


Into the Mists

by KatieSkarlette



Series: Wrathion's Life Story [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Broken Bones, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Seasickness, near-drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieSkarlette/pseuds/KatieSkarlette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrathion’s visions lead him across the sea to the newly-rediscovered continent of Pandaria, where he does his best to find his place and purpose.  Along the way he obtains some bodyguards and befriends a certain human prince…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a genfic. Expect no shipping.

 

After nearly an hour of wandering the dark streets and alleyways of Stormwind's Old Town on foot, Wrathion began to wonder if he could risk a brief reconnaissance flight to help him spot his destination.  There were plenty of people on the streets but most were walking with purpose, avoiding eye contact, so he found it difficult to ask for directions.  It was clearly not the safest part of town.

He had chosen to present himself in far plainer clothes than his usual, royal attire.  It seemed wise not to draw too much attention to himself.   His pantaloons and shoes were the same, but he wore a nondescript black coat held shut with a belt and over-the-shoulder-sash of unadorned leather.  He kept his gold loop earring but was otherwise bare-headed.  No one gave him a second glance, which was his intent, of course, but still seemed odd after being the center of attention his entire life.

His eyebrows crunched together in a frown.  There were a lot of things that had been constant in his life that would never be the same.  There was no point in moping about it.  

An entire winter and spring had passed since he left Ravenholdt, time he had spent meandering around the Eastern Kingdoms on his way to Stormwind.  His vision had directed him there, but he had no real sense of urgency.   He had an entire world to explore and a destiny to uncover--a destiny that had led him to a dead-end alley, it seemed.  

The narrow street was lit by a single lantern that swung on a rusty chain from the side of a weathered brick building.  The sign above the swinging half-doors had lost most of its paint to the elements but was still legiblle:  _The Ebon Wheel._   A wooden wagon wheel that had once been stained black was nailed to the wall next to the sign, perhaps as a clue to the illiterate.

The smell of stale beer, tobacco and other things Wrathion chose not to contemplate at the moment wafted into the night air along with sounds an off-key piano and raucous laughter.  He took a deep breath and reached out with a gloved hand to push the door open.  Before he could touch it, however, the door swung open and a young woman barged past him.

Despite nearly running into him, she neither looked at him nor apologized, but ran off down the alley.

Wrathion sniffed in disdain and sent a venemous look in her direction.  Such manners!

He strode into the tavern, wrinkling his nose at the maelstrom of odors that assaulted his nostrils.  Wasting no time, he went straight to the bar in search of the innkeeper.  A greasy-haired man in a heavily-stained apron watched him approach with a suspicious glare.

Wrathion flashed his best smile.  "Pardon me, but I'm looking for a gentleman who goes by the name of 'Muddy' Wright."

The innkeeper huffed in irritation, giving the impression that he had heard the same inquiry many times of late.  "Muddy's dead.  If you're lookin' to recover a debt, don't bother.  Bastard didn't have two pennies to rub together.  Left his daughter without even that."

Wrathion's face fell.  He had been counting on Fahrad's contact to help him.  "Where might I find her?"

"Don't know, don't care.  That was her you met comin' in.  She and the old man lived upstairs, but with him gone I had to kick her out.  Muddy owed me three months' rent already, and I ain't runnin' a charity here."  The innkeeper refilled the ale mug of a nearby dwarf who had clearly had several already.

It was the only lead he had.  Wrathion turned and ran out the door.

As he sprinted out of the alley and onto the main street, he realized he had no idea which direction the young woman had gone, and running blindly around a tough neighborhood in the dark wasn't the wisest plan.  He came to a halt, feeling foolish.

A hiccup from the shadows alerted him to the presence of a green-haired gnome who was sprawled in a doorway with a near-empty bottle of grog.

"Did you see a young lady run by here?" Wrathion asked.

The drunken gnome looked up at him, obviously having trouble focusing his eyes.  "A lady?"

"Yes, a young woman dressed in blue, long hair in a ponytail, skin about the same color as mine," Wrathion said impatiently.

"Oh yeah," the gnome said as if remembering something that happened years ago.  "She went that way."  His gesture was vague and uncoordinated, but it told which direction to go.

"Thank you," he said, hurrying off down the street.

Wrathion had gone three blocks, passing only lightless windows and locked doors, when a dark shape slammed into him from behind.  Taken by surprise, he could do nothing to defend himself and fell heavily on his stomach on the cobblestones.   Someone had his arms locked behind him and was apparently sitting on his back.

"Who are you?" a female voice hissed.

"I fail to see why I should share that information with you."

"I've got one very good reason right here, smartass."   A dagger appeared in front of his face, moonlight gleaming on the blade.

Self-preservation instincts kicked in, and Wrathion quickly shifted back into his true body and shot up into the air to perch on the roof of the nearest building.

"What the hell?" his assailant gasped, stumbling to regain her balance after the person she had pinned down seemed to disappear.

Looking down from his safe vantagepoint, Wrathion now recognized her.  Well, well...  He dropped down to land behind her, resuming his human guise as his feet touched the ground.  "Miss Wright, I presume?"

She whirled around and stood poised to attack, daggers in each hand.  He had been around enough rogues to know a skilled one when he saw it.   This woman knew what she was doing.  Perhaps all was not lost, after all.

"Who and _what_ are you?" she asked, dark brown eyes narrowed as she studied him with fresh wariness.

"My name is Wrathion.  I believe we have a mutual acquaintance in Grand Master Fahrad of Ravenholdt."

"My worthless father knew him," she spat.   "I never met the man."

"I see.  Then news of his death will not cause you any particular distress."

"People die all the time."  Her tone was flippant but there was a hint of pain in her eyes.  "Did you kill him?"

Wrathion looked down with an uncomfortable sigh.   "Fahrad had been ill for a very long time.  He hid it well, but in the end it was a battle that could not be won."  It was not exactly a lie.

The woman blew air out of the side of her mouth unsympathetically.  "If you're looking for my father, he finally drank himself to death a week ago."

"So I heard.  My condolences."

"Not necessary."

Wrathion raised an eyebrow.  "I was told he had knowledge of the city and its waterfront.  I seek passage on a ship but find myself woefully ignorant of ocean travel.  Perhaps you would be willing to assist..?"

The woman relaxed her posture somewhat, clearly not trusting him but not anticipating an imminent attack.  "I don't have time for this."   She turned to leave.

"I would make it worth your while," Wrathion said with a smirk.

She looked back at him, eyes drawn to the gold coins in his outstretched palm.  "You want directions, ask a city guard."

"I was thinking of a more... _involved_ arrangement."

She tensed again, daggers at the ready.  "I may be out on the street but I'm not that desperate yet.  Keep your damned money."

Wrathion remained calm.  "You misunderstand me.   I am in the market for a bodyguard.  You, Miss Wright, appear to be quite skilled with those blades, and you managed to get the jump on me earlier, which is no easy feat.  I could use someone with your...talents."  He met her suspicious glare with a reassuring smile.

"A bodyguard?"  She snorted.  "I've got better things to do than babysit some spoiled little rich boy."

His smile faded into an annoyed pout.  "I believe there is still some confusion.  Let me clarify."  He glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby to see, then shifted back into his natural body.

Miss Wright inhaled sharply and gawked.  "You're a dragon," she murmured.

"Not just any dragon.  I am the Black Prince Wrathion, son of the fallen Earth Warder and last of my flight."

She looked appropriately impressed, and to his relief did not comment on his size or cuteness.  "Well.  That's...different."

He puffed out a mouthful of smoke for effect before changing back into a human.  "So as you can imagine, I have many secrets to guard and enemies to avoid.  If you would be willing to assist me, I would see to it that you are fed, clothed and properly equipped.  It is my understanding that you are currently without a home or other attachments.  I can offer you a fresh start.   I cannot guarantee your safety, but I promise it will never be boring."

She stared at him with a distant, thoughtful expression.

He let her think, brushing dirt from the front of his coat and adjusting his belt.

"I won't sleep with you," she blurted defensively.

He looked up with a surprised laugh.  "No offense, Miss Wright, but I haven't the slightest interest in... _that_.  You are a _human_."   He made a disgusted face.  "Moreover, I am not yet even two years old.   I don't know how familiar you are with the life cycle of dragons, but I won't be physically mature enough to engage in such activities for at least a hundred years."

She stammered in embarrassment for a moment before clearing her throat.  "Ah.  Good.  In that case..."  She considered again, squinting at him uncertainly.  Her eyes wandered past him, back in the direction of the tavern.  At last she drew herself up to her full height and met his gaze without fear.  "You've got yourself a bodyguard."

"Excellent!  And you may address me as 'Your Majesty,' 'my prince,' or 'sir,' whichever seems appropriate at the time."

She nodded, then thought better of it and made a formal bow.   "Yes, Your Majesty."

A smug grin spread across his face.  "Now then, let's get you a proper set of armor and weapons.  I have a reputation to maintain, and I can't have my personal bodyguard looking shabby."

The young woman took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then fell into step behind him, silently shadowing him as he walked down the street with renewed vigor.

 

* * *

 

After a shopping spree that barely made a dent in Wrathion's gem collection, his new bodyguard was outfitted with the finest leather armor and crossbow that money could buy.

"I'll craft you some better daggers in the morning," he said, trying and failing to stop a yawn from interrupting him.  "For the moment, I believe some sleep is in order.  I trust you know of a suitable inn nearby?"

"Uh, I guess," she said.

"As you have seen, money is no object."

"Right.  This way, then."  She led him down a side street through the Trade District, toward the canal.  A welcoming light shone from a building whose sign declared it to be "The Dewdrop Inn."

"It's a pun, you see," Miss Wright said.   "You supposed to think of it as 'Do drop in,' like an invitation."

Wrathion blinked wearily.  "Humans are very odd.   Regardless, it looks like as good a place as any."  He pushed open the door and went inside.

A matronly woman sat by the fire, knitting needles flashing with practiced skill.  "Well hello there, youngsters," she said, standing up to shake their hands.  "Looking for a place to stay?"

"Indeed," Wrathion said with his most ingratiating smile.  "Would you happen to have a vacant room?"

"That I do," the innkeeper said, going to a small cabinet mounted on the wall by the stairs.  "Five gold pieces a night for the both of you."  She pulled a key from the cabinet and held it out to him.

"Excellent."  Wrathion produced some coins from his pocket and presented them to her with a flourish, taking the key with his other hand.

"Just one room?" Miss Wright whispered suspiciously.

"More than adequate, I assure you," he whispered back.   Then, turning to the innkeeper again, he made a small bow.   "Thank you, madam."  He climbed the stairs, and his new accomplice followed uncertainly.

The Black Prince found the door whose number matched the one on the key and tried the lock.  The door swung open with a creak, revealing a modest room with simple but clean furnishings.  The single bed took up most of the room, leaving a chest of drawers to dominate the far corner beside the window.

Wrathion gently blew a puff of flame to coax some life into the coals in the small fireplace.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" she asked, frowning at the cramped quarters.

"Oh, the bed is all yours, Miss Wright," Wrathion said with a smile.  "I prefer...different accomodations."  He took one of the two pillows from the bed and dropped it on the floor in front of the fireplace.   Faster than her eyes could follow, he shrank and shifted back into his true body and made a belly-flop onto the pillow.  "Ah, very nice.  Do try to wake me at least three hours before noon.  I have business to attend to tomorrow, but at the moment I need some sleep."

"Um...all right."  The woman wandered toward the bed, watching the whelp out of the corner of her eye as he stretched out in front of the fire with a contented sigh.

"Oh!" he said suddenly, opening his eyes to look at her again.  "I'm terribly sorry, I never did ask your first name, or how you would like me to address you."

She stared in surprise at the curious little dragon, still not entirely sure how to take him.  "Uh, well, my first name is Dexy, but you can call me Wright.  I'm used to answering to that."

Wrathion smiled.  "Very well, then.  Sleep well, Wright."

"You too...Your Majesty."

He nodded in approval and rolled over to face the fire.

The young lady shook her head in disbelief at the bizarre turn her night had taken.  From being kicked out onto the street to becoming the personal bodyguard for a pint-sized dragon with a ridiculously large vocabulary...  Oh well, tomorrow couldn't get any weirder.  She took off the outer layer of her leather armor and dropped onto the bed.  Sleep claimed her almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

A couple of hours spent watching the Black Prince working at the forge convinced Dexy Wright of two things.  First, he was extremely powerful.   Second, he knew it, and had an ego to match.  She had to repeatedly remind herself that he was technically a child, despite looking like a young man in his late teens.  His insatiable curiosity and self-centered whims hinted at his true age, however.

Stormwind's Dwarven District was abuzz with activity thanks to the new auction house and bank which had opened there recently.  The area around the forge was crowded with engineers and blacksmiths.  Wright stood just behind and to the right of the prince as he worked at an anvil, sweat rolling down her forehead.   She didn't dare complain about the heat when he was making her new weapons, but she did marvel at how unaffected he was by it.  Then again, she had awoken that morning to find him lying with his head in the fireplace, none the worse for wear from the glowing coals that had served as his pillow.

Wright had grown up hearing plenty of tales about dragons from visitors to the tavern, but so many of the tales were ridiculously embellished that she had little hope of separating fact from fiction.  Then, of course, the city had been rocked by the revelation of Lady Prestor's true identity some years ago, and a swirl of rumors still obscured exactly what had happened.  For awhile after Onyxia was ousted from the keep, Stormwind's residents half-jokingly accused each other of being black dragons in disguise.  The paranoia soon wore off and life returned to normal.

Now that she actually met a black dragon in the flesh...and scales...any doubts she had about hidden dragons in her social circle were banished completely.  Perhaps it was just because he was so young, but Wrathion was not exactly subtle about his true species.

As he worked on her daggers, he breathed occasional bursts of flame at the steel, and guided fiery tendrils of energy around the blade with his hands.   The use of magic wasn't terribly unusual, but the fire breath did attract some stares.  Several times Wright considered tapping him on the shoulder to suggest a more discreet approach, but the prince was nearly in a trance and she feared that breaking him out of it would draw more attention than his fire breath.

At last, Wrathion turned to her and held out a pair of daggers with the same giddy, proud expression that a child would have upon presenting his mother with a daisy chain.  "There, finished!" he announced.  "Blades worthy of the Black Prince's personal bodyguard."

Wright took the daggers from him carefully, and as soon as her hand closed around the hilt of one she raised her eyebrows in surprise.   Already she could tell these were very fine blades, perfectly balanced and gleaming with hidden energy.  Never in a thousand years would she have expected to hold such weapons, much less be given them for her own use.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said quietly.   "They're...amazing!"

He gave a smug grin, looking very pleased with his handiwork.   "May they serve you well in your mission."

She slid the daggers into sheathes hidden in her leather tunic.   "They should, although if you can breathe fire I'm not sure you need much protecting."

His smile receded.  "You still managed to ambush me last night.  A lot of good flame breath does when you're pinned to the ground."

She shrugged and nodded.

"Now, then, I'm famished.  Let's grab a bite to eat from that establishment over there before we visit the waterfront, shall we?"   He did not wait for her response, and would probably not have listened if she had objected.  She silently followed him into a nearby tavern.  Compared to the Ebon Wheel, this was a place fit for royalty.  It was well-lit by polished lanterns at regular intervals along the ceiling, and the tables were spotlessly clean.  

Wrathion swept off his turban and bowed his head to the barmaid who greeted them.  "Two for lunch, please," he said in his most charming voice.

The barmaid blushed and stammered, completely taken in by his exotic looks and regal demeanor.  It was a bit past midday, so most patrons had already finished their lunches and left.  The barmaid showed them to a small table in the corner.

Wrathion sat facing the door, leaving Wright to take the other chair.  Without waiting for a menu, he smiled up at the hostess and said, "I will have a large steak--very rare, if you can, I want to see blood--and a glass of warm apple juice."

The barmaid turned to Wright expectantly, and the young woman found herself tongue-tied.  "Just...bring me a sandwich."

"Beef, pork, mutton or chicken?"

"Uh...pork?"

"Anything to drink?"

"Apple juice is fine.  Just, er...chilled, not warm like his."

The barmaid left to relay their orders to the cook.

Wrathion turned to his guard with a curious smirk.   "I've never set foot in an eating establishment like this before but I think I managed with sufficient grace.  You, on the other hand, used to _live_ in a tavern, yet you're acting completely out of your element.  Why is that?"

Wright scowled to mask her embarrassment.  "You saw the Ebon Wheel.  It was nothing like this.  You also need _money_ to order food.  I was lucky to get the leftover scraps at the end of the day."

"Ah.  I see."  Wrathion traced the woodgrain of the table with a gloved finger for a moment, obviously thinking.   "Well, if you're to operate at the kind of efficiency I expect, you'll need proper nourishment.  Consider it part of the job."

She shook her head slightly, still not quite able to believe the arrangement she had stumbled into.

"Now, there is something else I should explain, because if the situation arises I need you to be prepared."  Wrathion regarded her with a serious expression.

"What is that?" she asked, trying very hard not to be distracted by his glowing, red eyes.

"Among the many abilities and talents I was born with, I have the gift of prophecy.  I have experienced two incidents in which I fell unconscious for a short time and had some kind of vision of the future.  If at any time you see me collapse with my eyes open, looking at things you cannot see, you will know I am having a third such episode.  They seem to strike without warning, and when I awake I feel generally horrible.  I will be too dizzy to stand or walk, so I will rely on you to keep me safe until I recover."

Wright's eyes widened as he talked.  This was well outside her realm of experience.  "Um, all right.  I'll keep that in mind."

"Also, my kind is violently allergic to cinnamon.   Keep it away from me at all costs."

She nodded.

"I prefer my bath water at a temperature you would consider scalding hot, close to boiling."

Until that moment she hadn't been aware that her duties as a bodyguard would include preparing the prince's bath, but she nodded again.  It was still a small price to pay for the clothes, weapons, food and shelter he had given her.

"I hate to be interrupted when I'm reading."

She kept nodding.

"However, time can move terribly fast when one is engrossed in a good book, so if you notice me in danger of missing an appointment or losing sleep, please do speak up."

"All right," she said, wishing she had a pencil and paper to take notes.  Remembering his true age, she was tempted to ask if he needed her to read him a bedtime story and tuck him in, but then she recalled how he slept half in the fireplace.  She smiled.  "I'll do my best, my prince."

"I'm sure you will.  Now, moving on to other matters...in the second of the prophetic visions I was speaking of a short time ago, I saw myself boarding a ship in Stormwind Harbor.  I'm afraid I couldn't tell you the name of the ship or where it was headed, but the vision was very clear that I was meant to get aboard.  The ocean was covered in a thick fog at the time, and I felt a strong compulsion to sail through it to see what was on the other side.  That was the entirety of the vision.  I admit I'm not really sure what it is supposed to mean, but that's why I've come here to Stormwind.  I'm hoping if I walk along the harbor something will trigger a memory or another vision, and I'll know what I'm supposed to do next."

"I know some dock workers," Wright offered.   "They might be able to pass on some information."

"Excellent.  That's just what I hoped."

The barmaid approached with a ceramic plate balanced on each forearm.  "Here you are, hot and fresh," she said with a flirtatious smile at Wrathion.

He rewarded her with a gracious nod and a smile of approval at the barely-cooked plate of meat.  The barmaid actually made a curtsey before giggling and fleeing back to the kitchen.

Wright wasted no time in picking up her pork sandwich.  It had been days since her last true meal, and the smell of the food made her stomach twist in hunger.

"I normally prefer to eat in a more, er, 'natural' state, but since we find ourselves in public I'll remain as I am," Wrathion explained, awkwardly fumbling with a knife and fork.

Wright wondered if he would be offended if she offered to cut his steak for him, but he seemed to be managing so she concentrated instead on her own food.

They ate in silence, with Wrathion struggling to use utensils in a dignified manner, and Wright inhaling her lunch as if she had never tasted food before.

A bit of steak went flying off his plate and onto the table between them, and Wright looked up in surprise.  Wrathion scowled and returned it to his plate.  "These tiny weapons aren't as easy to use as they look," he muttered.

"They might work better if you flipped the fork over the other way," she suggested.

He did so without comment. 

Wright tried not to stare as he sawed angrily with his knife, attempting to slice off a piece of steak.  His vigor made the plate slide on the table, knocking into his juice glass.  Wright's hand shot out to grab it before more than a few drops had spilled. 

"Would you like me to do that, Your Majesty?" she asked finally.

"No!  I am perfectly capable of--ow!"  His next effort resulted in the knife slipping across the porcelain plate and stabbing into his hand.  "Damn it!"  His eyes glowed even more red in agitation as he dropped the knife and inspected his hand.  Fortunately, the glove had protected him from any serious injury, save the one to his pride.

"Please, my prince, allow me," Wright said graciously, not waiting for a response before grabbing the knife and fork and quickly dividing the bloody steak into bite-sized pieces.

He slouched against the back of his chair, a hint of frustrated tears in his eyes.  When she finished, he angrily snatched the fork out of her hand and resumed eating.  He muttered something about cutting his own food being beneath his dignity, that he was a _prince_ , after all, and how dare humans design such ridiculous tools for something as simple as eating.

She tried not to smile and finished her lunch without a word.

 

When that ordeal was complete, Wright led him across town to the harbor.  With a stomach full of fresh meat and bright sunshine baking down, the Black Prince was in a better mood already.  Gulls' keening cries reached them before the docks even came into sight, and his sensitive draconic nose detected salt in the air.

Wright led him down a long course of stone stairs from street level to the waterfront.  Wrathion craned his neck to look around in all directions, an expression of childish delight on his face.  "Fascinating," he breathed, taking it all in.

Ships of elven and human designs were moored at the piers, and a constant stream of sailors, porters, travelers and soldiers scurried between them.   Guards in Stormwind colors were stationed at cannons and weapon stockpiles here and there.  He turned to look back at the city proper, and noticed that the large barracks at the southern edge of the wall was a crumbling ruin, blackened as if by a devastating fire.  Much of the structure had fallen into the ocean.

"What happened there?" he asked, pointing.

Wright hesitated.  "That was...Deathwing, Your Majesty.  He set fire to that whole part of town, and dropped the park into the sea.   Between him and Onyxia, this city hasn't had the best experiences with, um, your family."

Wrathion stared, imagining what the attack must have looked like, and suppressed a shudder.  "I do hope you won't hold it against me."

A gentle smile crossed her face.  "Well, it sounds like you weren't even born yet, so no.  Not your fault."

He nodded gratefully but still felt a chill despite the afternoon sun.  They continued on down the stairs.  "I never met my father," he said quietly, and Wright turned around to listen.  "A fact I do not regret in the slightest, believe me.  But rest assured, I am nothing like him.   He was a puppet of the Old Gods, maddened by centuries of corruption.  My egg was cleansed of their influence, and I was born free of the whispers that plagued the rest of my flight.  The original mission of the black dragonflight was to shape and protect the earth, a task I wish to take on...somehow."  He sighed and looked out to sea with a troubled frown.

She was not presumptious enough to touch him, but she came up close beside him and joined him in looking out at the horizion.  "Your Majesty, I don't know much about dragons and Old Gods and shaping the earth, but...  I do know about having a worthless, angry father.  Be glad you never met yours.  You're better off without him.  My pa never destroyed cities, and when he was sober he was a very good rogue, but mostly..."  She shook her head.  "Don't look back.  Your life is your own.  Make the most of it."

He turned to face her with a grateful smile.  "Thank you, Wright.  I intend to."

She smiled back and resumed the trip down the steep stairs.   When they reached the bottom, Wrathion immediately wandered off along the docks, and Wright dilligently shadowed him, alert for any pickpockets or other threats.  At each pier they passed, he mumbled, "No, that's not it" or "Not that one..."

Just as she was about to suggest tracking down one of the dock workers she knew to ask for advice, he stopped so suddenly she nearly ran into him.

"This is it!  This is the one from my vision!"

"This one?"  Wright swallowed nervously.   "Your Majesty, this is a military dock.  Stormwind's royal fleet is the only one that uses it."

Wrathion rubbed the small patch of beard on his chin thoughtfully.  "Interesting..."

"We can't just walk up and get aboard a naval vessel," she said.

"Hmm."

Just then, a stout man walked up and began nailing a scroll of parchment to a nearby signpost.  When he left, Wrathion strolled over to see what he had posted.

"Wanted," he read aloud.  "Deckhands and cabin stewards for a voyage to Tanaris, departing Tuesday next from this pier.   Applicants should contact the Royal Navy recruiter in Stormwind Keep."

"They're not going to let a black dragon join the royal navy," Wright said flatly.

"They won't _know_ I'm a black dragon," he said with heavy condescension.

"Don't be angry at me for saying this, my prince, but...you have scales on your cheeks."

He flinched and put a hand to his face.  "Titans damn it," he grumbled.  "That happens sometimes when I'm distracted.   Please do point it out when it does."  He closed his eyes to concentrate, and the hint of scales faded away, leaving only normal-looking human skin.

"There's also the whole 'red eyes' thing."

"Oh, yes.  Um, well..."  He scrunched up his face as if suffering intestinal distress, and the glow in his eyes dimmed to a ruddy brown.  "Is that better?"  Before he finished asking the question, the crimson flared back up, just as brightly as before.

"For about two seconds," she said apologetically.

He crossed his arms on his chest and huffed in frustration.   "Shapeshifting takes practice.  I'm afraid I'm not as...experienced as I would like to be."  He watched people of all shapes, sizes and races walk by, trying to think of a solution.  He spotted a male night elf strolling along with a small owl perched on his shoulder.  "I wonder...  Some mortals keep small creatures as pets."

"Your Majesty, I don't think--"

But he was already walking quickly toward the steps that led back up to the city.  She had no choice but to follow.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"This is never going to work," Wright whispered as she came out of the alley.

"Trust me," said the dark brown lizard draped over her shoulders.

"You still look like a dragon."

"I most certainly do not!" he sniffed.  "I have no wings or horns.  Granted, that's because my horns haven't grown in yet, but I did a very thorough job of hiding my wings, and my snout is _much_ shorter than usual.  And look at my tail!  It's half as thick and twice as long.  No dragon has a tail like that."

She shook her head and kept walking.  "All right, but don't blame me when we both end up in the Stockades."

"We'll be _fine_ ," he insisted airily.

"As long as you remember not to talk," she grumbled.

"My lips are sealed."

"Mmm hmm."

Wrathion did his best to look dull and non-sentient as they neared Stormwind Keep, occasionally flicking out his tongue as if looking for bugs to eat.   Wright asked one of the guards by the main entrance which way the navy recruiter was, and headed inside.

Wrathion lifted his head from her shoulder and looked around curiously at the impressive stone castle, imagining what it had been like when his...well, half-sister, he supposed...Onyxia held sway here.  They passed a patrol going in the opposite direction and he quickly put his head down and tried to look as simple-minded as possible.

Wright turned a corner and found the naval recruiter's office, but there was a line of potential sailors waiting out the door.  She stood at the end of the queue, turning so that her back, and thus most of Wrathion, was facing the wall.

Several minutes later a female draenei in shaman armor approached, her hooves loud on the stone floor.  She took up a place in line behind Wright, who tried to avoid eye contact.

"Oh my," the draenei said in heavily-accented Common.   "What an interesting lizard you have!"

"Thanks," Wright said in a bored tone, still not looking at her.

"This planet is full of such amazing creatures," she gushed.  "Even after years of exploring I am still being surprised by new species."

Wright saw out of the corner of her eye that the draenei had a hand up as if to touch the "lizard" on her shoulders, and edged away.   "Careful.  He bites."

"Oh dear," the draenei said, yanking her hand back.   "Well, it is still a very nice specimen.  Where did you get it?"

"A friend of my father gave him to me."  In a roundabout way, this was almost the truth.

"He is very cute."

Wrathion sank his claws into her shoulder through her leather tunic in warning, and she winced.  "He can be pretty naughty," she said with a forced smile, reaching up to pluck his claws off her.

He hissed and bared his teeth.

"Behave," she chided, bopping him on the nose.

It took all of his self-control to meekly put his head down instead of berating her.  He knew she was simply playing the part he had asked of her, but he didn't have to like being treated that way.

Before the draenei could make any more overtures of friendship, it was Wright's turn to be called into the office.

As a life-long resident of Stormwind with no criminal record (only because she hadn't been caught, she later told the prince), she was accepted without incident.  The struggles of the Cataclysm and the escalating hostilities with the Horde meant that Stormwind's military was in need of every able-bodied recruit they could get.  Her weapon skills made her a prime candidate.  She would have to leave her pet lizard in her bunk while on duty, of course, but her request to be on the next ship out was happily accepted.

"That went well," Wrathion said smugly.  Back in his human guise, he walked alongside Wright on their way back to the Dewdrop Inn.

"I can't believe it, but...yeah, it did.  Aside from you scratching the hell out of my shoulders."  She rubbed at the red dents through her tunic.

He looked down his nose at her with a stern pout, silently reminding her of his rank.  

She shrugged in apology.  "But, you know, no harm done, Your Majesty."

His mood lightened almost immediately.  "Yes, overall, a most productive day."

"You still don't know _why_ you have to be on that ship, though."

"Well, no," he admitted with an annoyed sigh, "but that will become apparent in time.  I trust my visions."

Wright followed him without further questions.

 

* * *

 

The next five days were filled with rigorous training for Wright as she learned the basics of the royal navy.  Wrathion spent his time exploring the city, although he carefully avoided the parts that still showed the scars of Deathwing's wrath.  

Once he discovered the library in Stormwind Keep, he spent nearly every waking moment there for two days straight, arriving the instant it opened and reluctantly leaving when they insisted it was closing time.  By being extra careful about his shapeshifting while interacting with the librarians, he had managed to avoid any suspicion.  He wished he had more time to absorb all the tomes collected there, but his excellent memory stored plenty to mull over during the ocean voyage.

It was late one evening, and Wrathion was speed-reading a volume on shipbuilding, hoping to finish before the librarian kicked him out for the night.  The library had been completely silent for quite some time, aiding him in his study, but now he looked up with an irritated frown as voices approached.

"Father, it's not like this is my first time on a ship.   I've been to Teldrassil, Azuremyst, Theramore..."

Wrathion could not see the speakers with several rows of bookshelves between them, but the first speaker sounded young.  Not a child, but certainly younger than the owner of the much deeper voice who answered him.

"I don't question your seaworthiness, son.  But Theramore is exactly why I don't want you going to Kalimdor right now.  The Horde is on the warpath.  That's why I'm sending this fleet out there in the first place."

Wrathion raised an eyebrow.  Who would have the authority to dispatch a naval fleet?  This had to be a very high-ranking official indeed.

"I know, which is why I want to go.  If I can help keep the peace..."

"Garrosh doesn't want peace.  If it weren't for the few moderate voices in the Horde, much more of Kalimdor would look like parts of Ashenvale do now."

"And you, father?  Do you want peace?"

The older man sighed.  "I want safety, Anduin.   I want the people of the Alliance to live without fear, without the looming specter of the Horde threatening their way of life."

Wrathion sat up straighter in his chair at the sound of that name.  Anduin Wrynn was the crown prince of Stormwind.  Could he really be eavesdropping on a conversation between him and the king himself?

The younger voice sounded sad, now.  "I want that, too, father.  But I know we don't agree on the best way to achieve it."

"I've been dealing with orcs since before you were born," the king said, a hard edge creeping into his voice.

"You were willing to consider a truce with Thrall."

"Thrall was a different sort of orc.  This no-neck warmonger he appointed in his stead is not the kind who will listen to anything but strength."

"Have you _tried_ to negotiate?"

"That word isn't in Garrosh's vocabulary, son."

Silence.  Wrathion did not dare turn a page or even breathe too loudly.

"Look," the king continued, "I don't _want_ the war to escalate.  The world has suffered enough without the Alliance and Horde going for each other's throats again.  But if it's the only way to ensure our people can live in safety, then you better believe I'm going to fight until my last breath to make that happen."

The prince's voice was subdued, more resigned than convinced.   "Yes, father."

"As for this voyage, well...it makes me nervous, but if you have your heart set on it..."

"I do.  Chances are nothing will happen, anyway.   We'll make sure the newest warships are seaworthy, give the recent recruits some hands-on experience, pick up a shipment from Gadgetzan, and be back in less than three weeks."

"Hopefully, yes."  The king still didn't sound happy about it.

"Thank you, father," the prince said, and the way his voice became muffled suggested he was embracing the king.

"You're welcome, Anduin. Just promise me you won't take any unnecessary risks."

"Of course.  Now I'm just going to grab a book about the navy to brush up a little."

"Fine, fine.  Don't stay up too late reading."

The thought of Fahrad telling him the same thing made an unexpected wave of grief wash over the Black Prince, and he frowned.  Such useless emotion had no place in his life. 

One set of footsteps departed, while another came closer.

Wrathion quickly double-checked his shapeshifting to make sure he looked as human as possible, and lifted his book to hide his red eyes.

"Oh, hello citizen," the human prince said, mostly hiding his surprise as he turned the corner to find someone there.

"Evening," he whispered, as if overly concerned with being quiet in the library.

If Anduin thought it rude that he did not look up or salute, or whatever one was supposed to do when greeting human royalty, he gave no sign of it.   He directed his attention at the books in front of him, scanning the titles with one finger.

With his back turned, Wrathion dared a peek.  The crown prince of Stormwind was about the same age as Wrathion himself appeared to be--which meant, of course, that he was at least sixteen years the dragon's senior.  He wore finely-tailored clothes in the royal colors of white and blue, and his hair was a light gold color that matched the trim on the sash around his waist.  Although he was by no means unhealthy, he had a slight frame that looked more suited for scholarship than combat.

Wrathion ducked behind his book before the other prince turned around again, and Anduin did not appear to give him a second thought.  He already had a volume open, paging through it as he walked away.  The librarian thanked him for coming and made a note of which tome he was borrowing.

Knowing that she would be coming around to shoo him out at any moment, Wrathion returned his book to the shelf and headed back to the inn.

 

Wright staggered in about an hour after the Black Prince, dropping pieces of her armor as she plodded toward the bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.

"Long day?"

She opened one eye and turned her head to glare at the small dragon sitting by the fireplace.  "You could say that, sir," she mumbled, voice slurred with fatigue.  "The navy isn't for wimps."

"I'm confident you can pass your training with flying colors.  And I have good news!"

"Oh?"

"It seems that Crown Prince Anduin Wrynn will be accompanying us on the voyage."

Wright used her aching arms to push herself into a sitting position.  "What?  How did you manage that?"

Wrathion smirked.  "Your faith in the extent of my influence is flattering, but it was actually a happy coincidence.  I happened to overhear him and the king discussing the matter while I was at the library in the keep."

"I still can't believe you dare show up there, Your Majesty, considering what happened to the last black dragon who was caught in the keep."

"I tuck myself away in a back corner where no one will notice if a few scales pop up here and there, and I am _very_ careful when people are around.  I have gathered a wealth of information in the process."

Wright muttered something that sounded like "whatever" and flopped back onto the bed.

"I think this is a good omen," he said cheerfully.   "Surely with such an important person along, great things will come of this journey.  Even without another vision, I feel destiny at work!"

Wright did not reply.  She was snoring within minutes.

Wrathion fluttered up to douse the lantern and returned to bask in the hot coals, feeling quite pleased with how his plans were unfolding.

 

* * *

 

One week later and many leagues out to sea, the Black Prince's assessment of the situation was significantly less rosy.  As Wright's "pet lizard" he was forced to stay in the cabin she shared with three other sailors during the day when they were all on duty.  Fortunately only one of the other sailors had a pet, a small parrot who sat in her cage and ignored him except for an occasional chirp if he made noise.

Being cooped up in the tiny cabin was boring enough, but he had been too seasick to even think of sneaking out to explore the ship.  Thankfully Wright had been assigned one of the lower bunks, as the upper ones swayed even more with the waves.  As it was, he spent most afternoons curled up under her blanket in this true form, trying to keep down the scraps of meat Wright brought him from the mess hall.

"This was a horrible idea," he whined to himself on one particularly turbulent day.  He hadn't even attempted to eat anything, but his stomach still lurched as the ship rolled.

The parrot chirped curiously at him from her cage on the other side of the room.

"Oh, shut up."  Wrathion tried in vain to take a nap, but the noise from above deck kept waking him up whenever he drifted off for a few moments.  He moaned as the ship pitched at such a steep angle that the cloak hanging on a hook by the door hung out from the wall.  "I didn't think I'd get so sick!  This is ridiculous.   It's just a bunch of water."

An ache of loneliness added to his discomfort.  "I wish you were here, Fahrad," he whimpered.

Not that the rogue would have been able to cure his seasickness, but just the thought of having someone to hold him and comfort him was a welcome one.  Knowing he would never have that again made him cover his head with the blanket and bury his face in the pillow.  He would _not_ cry, even if that stupid bird was the only witness.  And he would _not_ throw up in Wright's bed again.

He laid in tense misery, refusing to let his body do either of the things it was urging him to do.  He would be fine.  He just needed a little longer to get his sea legs...or wings.

Wings.  If he was in the air he wouldn't be rocked along with the ship!

Wrathion tossed off the blanket and carefully flapped his wings until he was hovering in the middle of the cabin, touching nothing but air.  The sway of his surroundings was a bit disorienting, so he closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.  He imagined himself floating high above Ravenholdt manor, the green hills stretching out into the distance.

It was working.  By concentrating on the movement of his wings, he could suspend himself safely in the air and not feel the swaying of the ship.   His stomach calmed a little within minutes, and he felt brave enough to move around the cabin a bit.  The parrot gave him a jealous squawk.  There wasn't much room to fly, but he soon worked out a course that he could follow around the room.   The longer he was airbourne the more his nausea receded, and he grinned smugly.   It would get tiresome flying around after awhile, but perhaps he had discovered the key to keeping his seasickness within reasonable limits.

He was so busy being proud of his ingenuity that he wasn't paying attention to the sound of footfalls in the corridor.  When the door latch clicked open, he panicked and dove back under Wright's blanket in a blur.

"Yeah, he's a real loudmouth all right," said one of the sailors who shared the cabin.

Wrathion hurried to shift into his lizard disguise, immensely glad for the cover of the blanket to give him an extra moment before being seen.

"How's my pretty bird?" cooed another sailor, bending over to greet her pet.  The parrot trilled happily.

"Better than Wright's ugly lizard," said a night elf.

"Hey, now, he's not ugly," Wright said, tossing back the blanket to reveal the strange brown reptile.

Wrathion looked up at her, doing his best "dumb animal" impression.

"At least he didn't puke in your bed again," teased the elf.

Wrathion hissed in embarrassment, baring his teeth at the night elf who had dared to speak so rudely about him.

"Careful," said the blonde woman doting on her parrot.  "Don't let him bite you.  I bet he's got all kinds of weird diseases."

"Oh, leave him alone," Wright said, rolling her eyes.   "He's harmless."

Wrathion snorted, and his accomplice poked him in the ribs to remind him of his role.  He turned his back on the women and sulked.

"I dinnae mind the scaly beastie," a dwarf said.   "He's never woken me up like your bird does, cawing at all hours!"

"Hey, her song is pretty!"

"Not in the middle o' the night!"

"Ugh, everyone, just be quiet," Wright said, tossing her boots under her bunk.  "I'm too damn tired for all this bickering."

"She's right; we're all exhausted," the blonde said, wincing as she slipped out of her salt-stained coat.  "Let's just get some sleep.  Morning comes awfully early on this tub."

The others muttered agreement and collapsed onto their bunks.

Wright laid on her back, hands clasped over her abdomen, and appeared to be sleeping.

When he was sure the others were too deeply asleep to hear, Wrathion crawled up onto Wright's pillow and poked his snout against her ear.   "Wright," he whispered.  "Are you awake?"

She made a barely audible sound to confirm she was.

"Open the window and let me out."

"Are you crazy?  You'll be seen," she whispered.

"I'll be careful.  Flying helps my stomach.  No rolling that way."

Whether it was obedience to her employer's wishes, worry that their conversation would wake the others, or merely the desire to stop having hot dragon breath blown in her ear, Wright quietly swung her legs out of bed and stood up.  With the slow, deliberate movements of a cat burglar, she unlatched the porthole and popped it open.

"Careful," she hissed as he flew outside.

He did a backflip just to show off and then zoomed up into the night sky.  Wright shook her head and went back to her bunk for some much-needed sleep.

 

The cool night air worked wonders after being cooped up in the musty cabin for days.  Wrathion swooped so low the ocean spray soaked him, then made a wide arc up and around to perch on the bowsprit.  A sentry in a Stormwind tabard was a fair distance away and had his back turned.  Wrathion lifted his wings and let the breeze dry his scales, then flapped up to explore the rigging.  The lookout in the crow's nest was watching the horizon, not the sails directly below, leaving the whelp free to flutter around with impunity.  

In the darkness no one would recognize him as a dragon even if they did catch a glimpse of a winged figure.  They would probably chalk it up to a bird or a trick of the light and go about their business.

Sitting in the rigging didn't last long, as the swaying was even worse up there and his stomach protested.  Despite that, he remembered that he hadn't really been able to eat in days, and when he took to the air again he wondered how best to sate his hunger.  He could hunt down a rat, he supposed.  There were always plenty of those on board a ship, or so he'd read.  But catching and killing it would probably draw attention, and when a crew member realized he was not one of the cats there would be trouble.

There were many new sailors on board.  Surely the galley crew wasn't familiar with all of them yet.  He could just saunter in as a human and ask for a plate of food.  With the proper attitude he could bluff his way through it, no doubt.  It was still terribly risky, though, and he doubted that the brig was any more pleasant than the tiny cabin.

He flew in a broad circle around the ship, watching its wake cut across the choppy sea.  There would be fish somewhere down there, but he had never tried to catch one before and getting lost in the middle of the ocean was a real possiblity.

Theirs was not the only ship, of course.  It was one of four nearly identical warships that flanked and protected the lead vessel, a fine galleon that no doubt had the crown prince on board.

Wrathion squinted at the flagship, judging the distance.   He could easily fly over to check it out.

His natural curiosity returned now that his seasickness was better, and without further thought he turned and flew toward the other vessel.

Cabin lights were on in several of the portholes, though all was quiet on deck.  Wrathion swooped up to the largest window, guessing that it belonged to the captain's cabin.  He took a chance and peeked inside.  A grizzled man sat at the table nearby, inspecting charts and making notations in a logbook.

He dared to fly up a little higher to look over the man's shoulder at the large map spread out on the desk.  The fleet's course was clearly marked, a bit further south than the usual route Wrathion had read about.  No doubt they were hoping to avoid any Horde ships that might be patrolling to the north.

Something seemed wrong with the map, though.  Wrathion squinted in the poor light.  It was a detailed map, drawn after the Cataclysm.   It looked very similar to other maps he had seen.  Yet something was...off. 

As he watched the man's compass slide across the map, he realized:  there was a landmass missing.  Yes, there was supposed to be another continent there.

Wrathion scowled in confusion.  How did he know that?   He had never seen a map with a continent in the south seas.  No tales of such a place were found in any of the books he had read.  Yet he felt utterly convinced that the course on the chart was impossible.  If they kept going in this direction, they would run into land.

He turned and flew back into the darkness outside, trying to make sense of the anomaly.  As they had traveled over the past week, he used his connection with the earth to track their progress along the ocean floor.  He passed the time by pushing his senses along the mountains and valleys that made the sea bottom every bit as rugged and fascinating as dry land.  Although, he carefully avoided the deepest trenches where primeval forces of darkness simmered.  His probing had revealed a continent in their path, but through the haze of boredom and seasickness he hadn't realized the significance until now.

There wasn't supposed to be a continent there.  Only ocean lay between Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms.  Everyone knew that.  But he had clearly sensed it there, and they were sailing straight for it.

Wrathion's heart jumped in excitement.  That must be why his visions had led him aboard this expedition.  A new land, waiting to be explored!   How wonderful!

Curiosity almost overshadowed his hunger, but he still wanted to find something edible before he returned to his own ship.  He fluttered down to the window directly below.

The light coming from inside was dimmer than the captain's cabin, but still more than sufficient for the keen eyes of a dragon to make out a figure kneeling beside the bed.   Wrathion recognized him, despite only having a brief glimpse of Prince Anduin before.

The human had his eyes closed and hands raised in front of his face, palms pressed together.  His expression was serene, and he was chanting something too softly for even Wrathion's ears to pick up.

The dragon suddenly realized that there were no lanterns lit in the cabin.  The gentle golden light was coming from the prince's hands.

He watched, puzzled, as the glow became more intense.  The human smiled widely and stopped speaking, merely basking in the light.  No, not just 'light.'  Although Wrathion had never witnessed it manifesting itself so vividly, this was clearly _the_ Light.  Such pure, holy magic had little place at Ravenholdt, but he had read wondrous tales of it saving the injured from the brink of death...and beyond.

Anduin finished his prayer and the cabin fell into darkness.   Before Wrathion's eyes could adjust, the human prince had slipped into bed and all was still.

So the Crown Prince of Stormwind was a devout follower of the Light.  Interesting, but the knowledge didn't bring him any closer to food.

Unless...  He sniffed, catching a hint of something tasty amid the whiff of incense that wafted through the window.  Confident that the other prince had his eyes closed, Wrathion flew up to perch in the window.  Sure enough, there was a basket of pastries and fruit on the table, untouched by Anduin or anyone else.

Wrathion waited until he heard a soft snore coming from the bed before he dared dart inside.  He didn't take the time to select carefully.   Seizing the first chunk of bread he could sink his claws into and the closest bit of fruit that would fit in his mouth, he fled out the window as fast as his wings could take him.

Heart pounding with excitement, he headed back toward his own ship.  Unable to wait and afraid of dropping it in the ocean, he crunched down on what turned out to be an apricot.  By the time he landed on the outstretched arm of the ship's figurehead, he had already eaten the fruit, so he took his time enjoying the twisted roll of bread.  He would have much preferred meat, of course, but this filled his stomach and gave him a small burst of welcome energy.

When he was done with the bread, he launched himself off the figurehead and flapped in lazy circles around the outside of the ship until his meal had settled.  He was reluctant to go back into the stuffy cabin with four snoring females, but his small wings were getting tired.

Defeated by the fifth yawn in as many minutes, he reluctantly headed back.  After a brief moment of panic in which he didn't remember which porthole he had come from, he used his nose to pick up Wright's scent.  The women were all sound asleep, and none stirred at all when the whelp climbed in the window and glided down to land on Wright's bunk.

She awoke with a jerk at the sudden movement, but recognized the dragon by his red eyes.  "Welcome back," she whispered.

He crawled over her, illiciting a grunt of discomfort as his back paw dug in a little too hard, and made himself comfortable in the narrow space between her and the wall.  Sleep came quickly, bringing dreams of the strange new land ahead where anything was possible.


	3. Chapter 3

 

In the following days, the Black Prince settled into a nightly routine that, while far from ideal, gave him plenty of exercise and kept his seasickness within tolerable limits.  Wright brought him adequate food from her own rations, but he still found it an enjoyable challenge to sneak off with a morsel here and there as he explored the fleet.

So it was that Wrathion was sound asleep and dreaming on the afternoon when horns sounded a warning from ship to ship.  In his dream he was as big as his father had been, tossing boats around like toys as stormy waves crashed around him.  It was a rather enjoyable scenario which made him feel confident and powerful, and he was reluctant to leave it.  The strange horns sounded again, louder this time, and were echoed by the other ships in the fleet at varying distances.

"What in the name of Khaz'goroth's fiery nosehairs is that racket?"  Wrathion groaned and rubbed his eyes.

The parrot flapped its wings in its cage but was, as usual, completely useless.

Wrathion flew to the porthole and pushed it open, straining to hear any conversation from above that would explain the unfamliar horn.

"I've been at sea since afore ye were born, ye pup," said a dwarven voice.  "And I dinnae care _what_ yer books say, I have _never_ seen a fog bank like that."

"Are we sure it's fog?" asked a gnome.  "It could be steam from a volcanic eruption."

Remembering the vision that had led him aboard this miserable vessel in the first place, Wrathion was immediately wide awake.  He stuck his head out the porthole and scanned the horizon.  Sure enough, a towering mass of white vapor loomed ahead, just as it had in his vision.  Although the voices from above were nervous and uncertain, he felt nothing but giddy excitement.  Whatever lay on the other side of that fog bank, it was good, and he was meant to find it.

The crew on deck were still discussing whether the wisest course would be to go around the fog, press on through it, or wait for it to dissipate, when another loud horn blast came from the crow's nest.  This was a different signal entirely, and was followed by a cry from the lookout.  "Horde ships, starboard side!"

Unfortunately his window was on the port side of the ship, so Wrathion couldn't see what was going on, but he heard plenty.

"Battle stations!" roared the captain, although from the commotion it sounded like the crew was already preparing for an attack.   "Battle stations, all hands on deck!  Ready the guns!"

Wrathion landed on Wright's bed and fidgeted nervously.   This wasn't supposed to happen.  There had been no battle with the Horde in his vision.  This could ruin everything!

He peeked out the porthole again, trying to judge the distance to the fog bank.  He might be able to fly that far, but there was no telling how extensive the mists were.  It would be all too easy to get disoriented and exhausted, and he had no intention of drowning in the middle of nowhere.

Perhaps if he could sense how far away dry land was, using his innate connection to the earth...

A rumbling crash made him jump and lose his concentration completely.  Surely the Horde ships weren't close enough yet to exchange fire, were they?  He glanced upward and realized the sound was thunder.  Oh, great.  A storm _and_ a battle?  What had he done to deserve this?

The parrot squawked in agitation and ruffled her feathers.

"What are _you_ worried about?" he sneered.   A splatter of rain hit the side of the ship, sending just enough moisture inside to make him damp.  He closed the porthole a bit more but did not dare close it completely.  He needed to be able to hear and see a little of what was happening.

"Hard to port!" yelled the captain.   "Shield the flagship!"  His next instructions were drowned out by another peal of thunder.

Wrathion flew in circles as best he could in the cramped cabin.   Helplessness was his least favorite feeling.

His sense of time grew confused as the afternoon faded into evening.   The storm escalated in intensity, and the growing swells sent an extra pair of boots tumbling across the floor from underneath one of the bunks.  Wrathion knew the moment he landed he would start to feel sick again, but his wings burned with exhaustion and fretting over the outcome of the battle was already making him feel queasy, anyway.

Thunder competed with cannonfire to be the loudest sound on the sea, but the loud crack of breaking timbers gave them some strong competition.   Battle cries in both Common and Orcish reached him through the open porthole.

_Fools_ , he thought with a scowl.  _Who has a naval battle in the middle of a gale?  Couldn't they have waited until the weather was calmer?_

Movement at the window caught his eye and he spun around to look.  Swirls of white vapor completely obscured the glass.  Tendrils of cloud oozed into the cabin like living, searching appendages, and Wrathion lunged to slam the porthole shut.   This was no ordinary fog. 

He gulped in fear and landed on top of the parrot's cage.   "I don't like this," he said, knowing full well that the bird couldn't understand him.  "Why did my vision lead me into such a disaster?  I don't understand.  This was supposed to be a wondrous voyage of discovery, but everything is going wrong!"

The parrot gave what he imagined to be a sympathetic chirp.

Above the din of battle, thunder and waves, he did not hear the running footsteps in the corridor, and nearly jumped out of his scales when the door slammed open.

"Your Majesty!" Wright cried.  "The ship's in bad shape.  We need to get out of here."

Wrathion knew he should take charge, tell her what to do, have some kind of plan ready.  As he stared at the panicked woman and felt the ship shudder beneath him, his mind went numb.  "Yes," he said vaguely.   "Get out of here."  The cabin tilted, and he swallowed hard to keep his stomach under control.  "Let's go."

Wright opened the door of the parrot's cage and shooed the agitated bird out.  The small gesture of kindness barely registered in Wrathion's mind at the time.  For the first time in weeks, he shifted into his human form and let Wright lead the way.  His shaking legs made the stairs a delicate matter, but he eventually emerged onto the deck.  Sheets of rain pelted the ship, and a burst of lightning gave him a glimpse of the rest of the fleet foundering, burning and breaking to pieces in the relentless waves.  The Horde ships didn't appear to be in any better condition.  There was no sign of the flagship.

The clang of steel meeting steel, a cry of pain, a sickening squelch, and a loud thud from somewhere aft of their position indicated that the battle was still very much in progress.

Before Wrathion could even begin to formulate a plan, a troll dropped out of the rigging just in front of him, a scythe in one hand and an axe in the other.  He crouched, getting his bearings, and spotted the petrified prince.   Tusks framed a wicked smile as the muscles in his legs coiled in preparation to strike.

"Move!" Fahrad's voice came to him through a whirl of memories.  "Don't be a sitting target!"

Wrathion threw himself to the side, banging his shoulder on the doorframe, as the troll lunged at him.  He scrambled to put more distance between them, curved slippers finding little traction on the rainy deck, but the troll was not moving.  Wrathion turned back to look and saw his assailant lying on his stomach, blood pouring from two jagged wounds that ran the length of his back and neck.

Wright stooped to wrest her blades from the troll's corpse, then took the prince by the arm and practically dragged him to the portside railing.   The ship creaked and groaned, listing further, and they had to adjust their footing on the fly to avoid sliding into the ocean.  "Can you swim?" Wright hollered over the din of battle and rushing waves.

"In this body?  I've never tried!"

"Then turn back!" Wright yelled.

He glanced around.  A human and a dwarf were fighting a hulk of an orc near the capstan, but no one else was close enough to see.

"Hurry!" Wright urged. 

Wrathion took a deep breath and shrank back into a whelp.   His transformation was barely complete when Wright grabbed him and tucked him inside her coat with his head beneath her chin.  "Hang on tight," she said, pushing off with both legs as she flung herself into the white-capped ocean.

Wrathion dug his claws into her shirt, fighting panic as chilly seawater engulfed him.  He struggled to grab a breath whenever the opportunity presented itself, but it was hard to tell where water ended and air began.  His world was a dizzying blur of leather and bubbles, and he sputtered and gagged.  Wright was a strong swimmer but the chaotic froth was almost impossible to navigate.  A burning timber smacked down only feet away, and the resulting wave sent her reeling in an unknown direction.

"I don't want to die," Wrathion choked when she found her way to the surface again.

"Me neither," she gasped, blinking salt out of her eyes.  "Don't let go.  We're almost there."

"Where?" he tried to ask, but got a mouthful of seawater as she propelled herself forward.  The whelp retched and whimpered, no longer caring if his claws hurt her.  She was the only solid object in the world, and he was _not_ going to lose his grip.

It could have been minutes or hours later, but a wave lifted them above the rest of the debris--parts of the ship, weapons, bits of sail, dead bodies of both factions--and flung them onto solid land.  

Land?  Could this be the mysterious continent he had detected?

Wright scrambled forward on all fours, breath coming in shuddering gasps, and finally collapsed where the sand was mostly dry.

Dry.  Would he ever be dry again?

She opened her coat and let the whelp tumble out onto the ground.  They both heaved up what felt like half the ocean before they were able to properly breathe again.

"You all right...Your Majesty?" Wright panted when she felt she could speak.

There was absolutely nothing majestic about how he was feeling at the moment, but he nodded.  "Where...are we?" he croaked.

She looked around at the wreckage washing up along the beach, and the impenetrable forest of greenery behind them.  Night had fallen, and the lack of light combined with the wind-driven rain made it hard to see very far.  "Damned if I know," she said with a cough.  "Was this part of your...vision?"

"No," he said, then spat up another gurgle of seawater.  "Titans, I would never have set foot on that accursed ship if I had known it was going to be like this."

"Come on, let's find someplace to hide.  If we survived, some of the Horde could have, too."   She started to walk inland, but soon glanced back when she noticed he wasn't following.  "Your Majesty?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just...shaking so much...I can't..."

She looked down at the trembling whelp with a worried frown.  "Here," she said with an almost maternal tone, bending down to scoop him up in her arms.

It was slow going, hacking back the vegetation with a dagger in one hand, and clutching a half-conscious whelp with the other arm, but it was still well before dawn when Wright found a grotto that was sheltered from the wind and not easily visible from any path.  Best of all, a trickle of fresh water ran from the ceiling to pool in a niche in one corner.

Wright eagerly cupped her hands to drink, rinsing the overpowering taste of salt out of her mouth.

"My prince," she said quietly, lifting him up to the pool.  "Drink."

Wrathion came to his senses long enough to slurp a mouthful of fresh water, then seemed to pass out again.

Wright sank down to sit on the rocky ground, unable to coax another moment of energy from her exhausted body.  She cradled the quivering whelp close to her chest and closed her eyes with a sigh.  "If you had told me a month ago that I'd be risking my neck for a snooty baby dragon, I would have accused you of smoking bloodthistle," she said to no one in particular.

Wrathion did not reply.  He shivered violently, turning into the warmth of her body with a desperate whine.

Even if she had had dry tinder to make a fire with, she would not have dared to draw that much attention.  The forest was full of dangers, known and unknown.  All she could do was to open the front of both her coat and her tunic, and carefully tuck him between her arm and chest.  His scales were abrasive against her bare skin but she was too battered and bruised to care.  She buttoned up her clothes again, until only the whelp's head was visible, resting against her neck.   She wrapped her arms around him for extra warmth and sank into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

As consciousness seeped back to him, Wrathion first felt grateful that the ground wasn't moving.  Then he realized how hideously dry and bad-tasting his mouth was.  Next he wondered why he couldn't move his limbs.

He opened his eyes with difficulty.  They burned and felt crusted over, but he was unable to rub them.  He strained against the fabric that bound him tightly from the neck down, but could not free himself.

Then his pillow moved.  He made a startled noise, his raw throat refusing to form actual words.

"Ugh, what a night," came Wright's voice from somewhere very close.  "Usually when I wake up feeling like this I've at least had a wild party beforehand."

Wrathion found himself tipping into a vertical position and dug in his claws to keep from sliding.

"Ow!  Easy with the claws!" she cried.

He was still horribly disoriented until she reached up to unbutton her coat and tunic.  Only then did he realize where he was, and scrambled to free himself.  He slid into her lap with a groan, finally able to rub his eyes.   "Mah mouf ith all icky," he said.

Somehow understanding his distorted words, Wright lifted him up to the rock ledge with the pool of fresh water.  Wrathion tipped forward and submerged himself up to the waist.  When he emerged several long seconds later, he gave a gusty sigh and licked moisture off his snout.  "Aah, much better!"

"Yeah, that was a lot of salt," Wright said, brushing granules off her mostly-dry coat.

"Repulsive," he said with a shudder, dipping his head again.

She stood to splash water on her face with similar relief.   Once her own vision was clear, she took a better look at the whelp perched on the edge of the pool.  "Are you all right, Your Majesty?  Nothing broken?   You don't seem to be bleeding anywhere."

Wrathion looked down at himself, noting a pair of missing scales on one haunch.  Fahrad had warned him about that possibility but had assured him they would grow back eventually.    His right arm ached but there was no visible wound.  "I appear to be in one piece," he said at last, trying to recover his usual haughty attitude.  "I trust you are similarly intact?"

She almost managed a laugh.  "Yes, my prince.  Lots of scratches and bruises but nothing serious."

"Well, then.  Shall we see what kind of place we've washed ashore in?"  He slid off the ledge and shifted back into his human form before his feet hit the ground.  He took a few steps forward, then turned back to his companion.  "And, Wright?  I don't have the resources to properly reward you at the moment, but...thank you.  You saved my life at least twice yesterday."

She grinned.  "Isn't that what you hired me to do?"

"I did indeed.  Speaking of which, I'll let you lead the way, in case there are hostile things lurking out in the forest."

"Of course."

 

* * *

 

The storm had passed, leaving a choppy sea and a beach strewn with debris.  Scavenging birds and crabs were already going to work on the dead, which included an equal number of Horde and Alliance races.  The wreckage of one of the warships rose out of the shallows, scraps of canvas flapping from charred timbers.   Barrels, chairs, crates and bodies bobbed in the surf.  The Alliance flagship and several of the other vessels were nowhere to be seen, and Wrathion hoped that meant some of them had survived.

Perhaps the king was right to worry about his son going on such a journey, he mused, squinting out to sea in search of a sail.  Natural pillars of stone rose out of the ocean at random intervals, topped with lush greenery and higher than all of Stormwind's spires.  There was no sign of any ships, however.

Wright wandered a short distance away, checking corpses for signs of life and picking up any weapons that seemed valuable.  She stooped to help herself to some arrows from the quiver on the back of a female orc.  A green hand shot out and grabbed her ankle, causing her to scream.  Wrathion whirled around to see what was going on.

Wright hopped backward on one foot, trying to shake loose of the orc's grip.  The orc, covered in sand and blood yet very much alive, had lost her bow and other weapons, but grabbed one of her arrows and attempted to stab Wright's foot.

"Stop that," he barked, stomping toward them.

Wright now had her daggers ready and was poised to slash at the orc's hands.

"I said, stop!"  Wrathion stepped closer and let loose with a blast of flame breath that singed Wright's pant leg and made the orc yank her hand back in pain.  "Hasn't there been enough loss of life already?"   He blew smoke out of his nostrils and stood with his hands on his hips.   "Why do you want to kill each other?"

"She's an orc," Wright said, looking shocked that the prince was delaying her from eliminating such a clear threat.

"Alliance scum," the orc snarled in thicky-accented Common.

"Yes, yes, but what does that even _mean_?" Wrathion asked impatiently.  "You've never laid eyes on each other before today, correct?"

Neither could contradict his statement.

"We have survived against all odds when countless others have perished.  Can't we at least pretend to be civilized, sentient beings for now?"

" _What are you?_ " the orc asked in her native tongue, scowling up at him.  She still had not attempted to stand, and the twisted angle of her left leg hinted at the reason why.

To Wright's surprise, Wrathion replied in fluent orcish.   " _I am the Black Prince Wrathion, heir to the fallen Earth Warder and last of my kind.  I seek to protect Azeroth.  Your factions' disputes mean little to me.  I am concerned with the world's well-being on a much greater scale._ "

" _You are not a human._ "

He gave a disdainful snort, expelling a bit of leftover smoke.   " _Hardly.  I am a_ purified _black dragon._ "

Wright looked back and forth between them nervously, unable to understand a word they were saying.

" _Your leg is injured_ ," he said, gesturing at her limb.

" _I would not be lying here like one of the dead if it were not,_ " the orc said, jutting her tusks out defiantly.

He turned back to his bodyguard.  "Wright, see if there's a piece of wood around we can use as a splint.  Our new friend here has a broken leg, I believe."

"Whoa, wait a minute...'new friend'?  She's an orc."

"I'm quite well aware of her species, yes.  I fail to see how it is relevant, however."

"She's the enemy!  You know, the enemy who blew our ships to smithereens last night and nearly killed us?"

"I believe I gave you an order, Miss Wright."

She narrowed her eyes at him, then at the orc, before stalking off to look for a suitable piece of wood.

While she was occupied with that, Wrathion turned his attention to the green-skinned female lying at his feet.  She looked fairly young for one of her kind.  Her head was shaved bald except for a tangled ponytail on the back of her skull.  The red Orgrimmar tabard she had been wearing was in tatters, stained by sand, salt and blood--very little of which appeared to be her own.

The simple fact that she had survived when so many had not spoke of her strength, and the way she had taken Wright by surprise, improvising a weapon from her arrows, proved her a quick thinker.  Brains and brawn, both very valuable qualities.

" _You're a long way from home, young warrior,_ " he said with a friendly smile.

" _So are you._ "

" _True,_ " he conceded with a nod.  " _Would you be interested in a...mutually beneficial arrangement?_ "

" _I serve the Horde,_ " she growled.

" _And see where that has gotten you,_ " he said with a sly smirk.  " _Lying broken on an uncharted beach, dying of thirst while seagulls wait for the chance to peck at your eyes.  And for what?  Your Horde lost just as many ships and fighters as the Alliance did, and gained nothing to speak of._ "

" _It makes no difference to the Warchief,_ " the orc said, curling her lip in disgust.  " _We fight the Alliance dogs until they are crushed beneath his banner, or we die trying.  Lok'tar ogar!_ "

Wright trudged toward them again, dragging part of a long oar.   "Ugh, not that lok'tar crap."

Wrathion shot her a warning look and instructed her to help him as he rolled the injured orc onto her back.  Showing pain was a source of shame to an orc, but she could not suppress a grunt when Wrathion forced her leg to lie flat against the splint.

"I didn't know you knew any first aid," Wright said, watching the prince take strips of the orc's ruined tabard to bind her leg.

"I'm full of surprises," Wrathion said with a cheeky smile.  "Although I have to admit most of my knowledge is theoretical thus far.   Still, this seems to work just like the books said it would."  He grabbed a length of wood out of the surf and gave it to the orc to use as a cane, then helped her get to her feet.

Color drained from her face but she made no audible complaint.

"Why are we saving an orc?" Wright hissed to him.

"Orc, human, elf, _gnoll_ , it makes no difference to me," Wrathion said stubbornly.  "We all live on Azeroth.  We should all have a hand in protecting it."

Wright's expression softened a fraction, seeing the logic in his words.

Wrathion patted her shoulder.   "Don't worry.  You'll always be my _Wright_ -hand woman."

"And you claimed not to understand puns," she muttered.

 

They kept searching up and down the beach for other survivors of the shipwrecks, but none were still alive.  At mid-day they returned to the grotto where there was at least fresh water to be had, and dared to light a fire.

Wright sat as far from the orc as possible, glaring at her through the bonfire.  Wrathion sat inside the fire pit in his true body, gnawing happily at a large fish that Wright had managed to catch earlier.  The others were waiting for their portions to cook properly, each turning their fish slowly over the fire on the end of a pointed stick.

The orc, who had given her name as Lekthra, had said nothing since arriving at the grotto, and refused to look at the human.  She seemed fascinated by the small dragon, however, and watched his every move as he lolled among the embers and devoured a fish almost as big as his head.

"That was the best meal I've had in weeks," Wrathion raved, tossing aside the last scraps of bones.  "I hope it's just as tasty when you ladies are through cooking yours."

"We'll see," Wright said, keeping a close eye on the orc's fish.  A bizarre sense of competition made her want to finish preparing hers first, but she didn't intend to eat an undercooked fish, either.

Wrathion laid back among the snapping twigs, rolling back and forth in the flames with a contented sigh.  "I know things didn't get off to the most auspicious start here in this strange land, but I have a good feeling about the future."  He sat up and scooted out of the hottest part of the fire, shaking soot from his wings.  "Perhaps tomorrow we can scout around a bit more and see if anyone--"  He stopped in mid-syllable and wobbled unsteadily.

"Your Majesty?"  Wright leaned forward to look at him better.  "Are you all right?"

He did not answer, but toppled over on his side with a puff of ash.

"Prince Wrathion!" she cried in alarm, tossing her cooking stick aside and scrambling over to him.  Heedless of burning her hands, she scooped him up and carried him back to where she was sitting.  Soot and burned wisps of vegetation stained her tunic but she paid no attention.  She laid the senseless whelp on his back and brushed ash from his face.

His red eyes were open, moving as they appeared to follow the movement of invisible objects.

"What happens?" the orc asked in halting Common.   "Sick?"

Wright was too frightened to remember to be rude.  "I think...he's having a vision."

 

One moment he was enjoying a relaxing bask in the fire, and the next he found himself floating among the stars.  Wrathion let out a screech of panic and flailed his limbs, finding nothing solid to hold onto.  He flapped his wings desperately but didn't seem to move at all.

"What...?  Where am I?  What is this?" he demanded of anyone who might be around to answer, but there was only silence.  He noticed a small blue dot among the otherwise uniform stars and watched as it grew larger and larger--no, he realized, nearer and nearer.  He inhaled sharply in recognition.   That was Azeroth.

"Oh," he breathed, overcome with the pure perfection of the planet as it turned slowly against a backdrop of infinite darkness, white clouds whirling over brilliant blue seas and a tapesty of green and brown land.  His heart _ached_ with the beauty.  This was his home, his charge, his destiny.  He had to protect this precious world.

It was so small, so vulnerable...a fragile speck in a vast and perilous cosmos.

The euphoria was replaced by sudden, gut-wrenching dread.   Something was coming.

Comets of sickly green light streaked out of the blackness and pelted Azeroth from all directions.

"No!" he yelled, trying in vain to fly closer.   The planet shuddered from the impacts, the terrible damage visible even from this great distance.

Without warning, the scene changed.  He was back in Stormwind, but it was barely recognizable.  Fel green flames raged across the city, reflecting eerily in the canals.  A doomguard flew past, its bestial laughter echoing in the otherwise silent city.  Everywhere he turned, there were corpses littering the streets.  Men, women, children, dogs, cats, horses, birds, rats...all lay where they had fallen, expressions of sheer terror frozen on their faces.  Leaves withered off the trees as he watched, drifting down like snow to cover the scattered bodies.

Wrathion was transfixed by the unimaginable horror, unable to speak or flee.  What was this?  Was this the future?  Oh please, no...

The setting changed again, this time showing a glimpse of other major cities he recognized from books:  Orgrimmar.  Thunder Bluff.   Darnassus.  Ironforge.  Dalaran.  The slaughter was the same in every location.  Rivers of blood stained the streets.  Not a single creature was left alive anywhere, except for the demons who wheeled and screeched in the green sky.

No, there was one flash of movement.  He did not recognize the location, a rocky mountainside like so many others.  Two figures stood there, each helping to hold up a fluttering banner.  One was a human, his shining armor emblazoned with the blue and gold lion of Stormwind.  The other was an orc, her crimson tabard bearing the crest of Orgrimmar.  The banner they held was the same brilliant white as the Light that had appeared around the hands of the praying prince.  The death and corruption did not touch the two defiant warriors who held the banner, and a surge of hope warmed Wrathion's chest.

The message was painfully clear:  _Only a united Azeroth can withstand what is to come_.

As soon as this concept was seared into his mind, a different kind of blackness closed in around him, and he felt himself falling, falling, spinning...

He convulsed with a deep gasp, making Wright jump.

"My prince!  Are you all right?"

He looked up at the two concerned faces gazing down at him.  One, human.  The other, orc.  Yes, this was how it had to be.

Wrathion closed his eyes again, reeling with vertigo that convinced him not to even try to sit up.  "I told you this might happen," he said breathlessly.

It was such a weak joke that Wright didn't even crack a smile.   She wet a scrap of cloth from the pool in the grotto and wiped soot from his eyes and nose.  "It's all right, Your Majesty.  I'll watch over you."

"You both will," he said emphatically.

She glanced at the orc with confusion but did not protest.

"We have to...be united," he said dreamily, sounding a bit drunk.  "It's the only way.  If not..."  He shuddered and curled into a tight ball.  "Oh Titans, the horror..."

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

There was an old widow who used to come into the Ebon Wheel in the evenings to drink away her loneliness.  She always carried a scrawny little dog in her arms, petting it constantly as if by unconscious reflex.  Wright had never seen the animal walk and wondered if it could, or if it had just given up after years of being toted around by its master.

Sitting with her back against the cool rock wall of the grotto, slowly stroking one hand across the sleeping whelp in her lap, Wright reminded herself of that eccentric old woman, and wondered whatever happened to her.

The Black Prince had mumbled about green fire and rivers of blood for some time before dropping into a deep sleep.  Night had fallen but he showed no signs of waking anytime soon.

Lekthra remained silent, and with her injured leg in a splint she wasn't likely to attack or flee, although Wright still didn't trust her.  The orc sat on a fallen log, poking the fire with the stick she had used to cook her fish.   Strange noises came out of the forest in all directions, but nothing approached the circle of light cast by the flames.

Wrathion squirmed and made soft noises of distress.   Wright picked him up and laid him on her shoulder like an infant.   "Ssh, my prince," she soothed under her breath, patting him on the back.

He sighed and sank into her warmth.  Soon his breathing returned to a steady, almost-snore.

Wright knew she must look absurd, coddling a tiny dragon like a baby, but in the weeks since they met she had grown oddly attached to Wrathion.   He put on airs and acted arrogant, even obnoxious, most of the time.  Yet she had been awoken numerous times by him crying out in his sleep for Fahrad, or thrashing in a nightmare.  The innocent wonder on his face when he explored new things reminded her of how young he truly was.  

She had no children or younger siblings, but she had discovered that it was oddly comforting to remain strong for someone else.  Devoting her energy to taking care of him also helped her avoid thinking about her own troubles.  Wright didn't have the slightest idea where she would be now if he hadn't taken her under his wing.

She smiled at the pun, running a hand down his back.

True, if she hadn't met him, she wouldn't be shipwrecked on an uncharted landmass, stranded in the middle of nowhere with an _orc_ , but...   Somehow it was still preferable to the thought of wandering the streets of Old Town, trying to make ends meet in any way her dignity would allow.

"Dragon better?"

Wright jumped slightly at the sudden voice, looking to the orc with wide eyes.

Lekthra smirked at her reaction.

"Maybe," Wright said, looking down at the sleeping whelp as an excuse to avoid eye contact with her.  "Sleeping."  It was difficult to communicate with the few simple words of Common they shared...not that she wanted to talk to a member of the Horde, anyway.

"You are not dragon?" Lekthra asked carefully.

Wright swallowed back a laugh.  "No.   I'm human."

"Look like dragon mother," the orc teased.

Wright patted Wrathion's back gently.  "I'm his bodyguard.  But he doesn't have a mother, either."

"I think he is very smart for very young," Lekthra said, visibly struggling to translate her thoughts.

The human nodded in agreement.  "He is."

"Strange."

"That too," Wright said with a smile.

Lekthra gave a short bark of a laugh.  "All of this is strange, us three here.  Orc, human, dragon."

"Yeah."

The orc eased herself down onto the ground, sliding the leg with the splint carefully to minimize the jostling.  "You sit with dragon; you watch first.  I sleep first, then watch and you sleep."

It took Wright a moment to figure out what she meant.   "Yes, I'll take first watch."

The orc nodded with a grunt of agreement and turned her back, settling down in the dirt to sleep.

Wrathion whimpered and kicked one footpaw against her chest, and Wright made soothing noises until he was quiet again.  She knew this wasn't exactly in her job description, but, then again, he'd never really given her one.   Guard him from harm, yes, but other duties kept getting tacked on.  Oh well.   As long as the haughty little dragon was around, she knew she'd never be alone...or bored.

 

 

* * *

 

Warmth and softness greeted Wrathion when he awoke the next morning.  It was a pleasant feeling, and for a fleeting moment he thought he was back at Ravenholdt, snug in a pile of blankets at Fahrad's side.  A cascade of scents, some familiar but most not, brought him back to reality as he inhaled to yawn.

Wright was still asleep, lying on her side and facing the barely-glowing remnants of the bonfire.  Wrathion was trapped in her arms, and although he was quite comfortable there, it was time to face the day.  The horrific vision of the demon invasion was still fresh in his mind, but the fear was slowly sharpening into determination.  Azeroth had to be united under one banner.  It was the only way to avoid the planet being stripped of all life.

He had a few ideas about how to accomplish such a monumental task, but of more immediate importance was figuring out exactly where they were, if they were in danger, and how to get food and other supplies.

The whelp managed to wriggle out of the human's arms without waking her, and flapped his wings to ride up a weak thermal rising above the fire.   Before he could clear the trees, however, a gruff voice reached him from below, and he came to a halt.

"Good morning, dragon prince."

He looked down at the orc.  "Good morning...Lefra, was it?"

"Lekthra."

"Of course."  He circled down to land before her, then shifted into his human form.  "How is your leg?"

"The splint is good.  It will heal."

Wrathion decided not to ask her about the pain.  She would never admit to any, and might take the inquiry as an insult.  "Glad to hear it," he said instead.  "Now, then, have you given any more thought to what we discussed yesterday?  If you wish to return to the Horde, I will not try to stop you.  However, I could certainly use a strong, capable orc like you in my service."

Lekthra scowled, picking at a loose thread on her vest.   "The Horde today is...not what it used to be.  I was proud to fight under Thrall.  He was indecisive at times, but he had honor, and always worked for the good of our people."  She left her opinion of Garrosh Hellscream unspoken, but it was obvious that she believed him lacking in the qualities she had admired in the previous warchief.

"I see."  Wrathion rubbed his chin.   "You know, there was great loss of life when those ships foundered.  Many of the dead went to the bottom with their vessels, or were swept out to sea.  There doesn't seem to be anyone around to record the names of the fallen and missing.  The orc you were, the one who was sworn to serve under Hellscream's banner, could easily have perished.  No one would ever be the wiser."

She considered this, regarding him with a combination of respect and surprise.  "You are a clever whelp," she said quietly.

"I thank you for the compliment but please, address me as either 'my prince' or 'Your Majesty,' or simply 'sir.'  I have a reputation to maintain."

She startled him by laughing, which finally woke Wright.   The human sat up and gave them a confused look, but upon seeing that nothing was amiss, took her time in stretching and rubbing her eyes.

"Very well, Your Majesty," Lekthra said with only a small element of mocking in her voice.  "You mean to protect Azeroth from demons and other evils?  Sounds like a worthy cause.  I would rather follow a baby dragon than a frothing-mad warchief."

"I'm not a baby," he grumbled.  "But yes, my chief concern is the well-being of this fragile world, and any assistance would be greatly appreciated.  You will be compensated for your service with the best armor and weapons, and you will never go hungry."

Wright wandered closer, looking annoyed at the way they were speaking orcish and thus leaving her out of the conversation.  "What's going on?"

Wrathion turned to greet her with a gracious smile.   "Wright, I am pleased to announce that our company has grown by one-third.   Lefthra has agreed to join us."

"Lekthra," the orc corrected.

"Yes, yes," he said with an impatient wave of his hand.

"I have to work with an orc?"  Wright narrowed her eyes suspicously at the other female.

"Yes, you do," Wrathion said firmly.  "And hopefully, in time, you'll both be joined by a variety of other races.  We seek to protect Azeroth, and as such any of the world's denizens are welcome in my ranks.   Now shake hands and promise not to kill each other."  He gave a hopeful smile and looked expectantly from one to the other.

Wright hesitated, wrinkling her nose at the orc.  Lekthra did not look particularly enthused, either, exposing her tusks in an aggressive sneer.

"I'm waiting," Wrathion chided, crossing his arms on his chest.

Finally, with an exaggerated air of reluctance, a green hand seized a brown one in a crushing handshake intended to instill pain rather than camaraderie.  Wright set her jaw and squeezed back just as hard, not about to let an orc show her up.

Lekthra endured the counterattack for several long seconds before their arms trembled under the strain.  At last they each let go, nodding in grudging respect.

"Strong grip, for a human," the orc said.

"You're not bad, either," the human sniffed.

Wrathion clapped a hand on each of their backs simultaneously.   "There, excellent, we're all on the same side now.  You two are to protect me with your very lives, understood?"

They both nodded.

"Splendid!  Now that we've sorted all that out, let's explore a bit, shall we?  I'm unbearably curious about what kind of land we have washed ashore in.  This continent isn't on any maps that I've seen, but it has an aura of ancient mystery about it..."  He shivered in pleasant anticipation.   "I can't wait to see what lies ahead!"

With a puff of magic, the Black Prince shifted back into his true body and flew above the level of the trees to get his bearings.  "There appears to be some kind of settlement to the north and west.  Come on, let's go!"

Wright hurried after him, realized the orc was moving at a snail's pace due to her injured leg, and unenthusiastically turned back to help her.   "This is _not_ how I imagined my life would go," she muttered, draping one of the orc's arms around her shoulders.

Lekthra snorted in amusement and gripped her makeshift crutch with white knuckles.  "The same for me."

Wrathion came back and flew in excited circles around them as they slowly made their way down the forest trail.  "That's it, teamwork!   Very good!  One foot in front of the other, now.  Left, right, left, right, left...  Oh!"  He burst into giggles that seemed all too appropriate for his age.  "Lefthra, Wright!  Lefthra, Wright!  I love it!"

He flapped on ahead, leaving the orc to grumble, "My name is _Lek_ thra."

Wright shook her head.  "Good luck changing his mind.  He _is_ a prince, you know."

 

* * *

 

Wrathion's unnaturally good skill with languages enabled him to pick up the Pandaren tongue within a few days of interacting with the locals.  This opened up a new world of knowledge, which he eagerly absorbed like a sponge.  The Pandaren he met in the Jade Forest were gracious hosts, if a bit taken aback by his exuberance.  He spent hours and hours reading every tome and scroll he could find.

Wright and Lekthra--or Right and Left, as the Black Prince now insisted on calling them--did their best to guard him, although they were treated with warm hospitality by everyone they met.  The orc's leg healed quickly under the ministrations of the monks.

As it turned out, there _were_ other survivors of the naval battle and shipwrecks, and most seemed intent on continuing the hostilities between the Horde and the Alliance.  There were a few who were fed up with the conflict and more interested in exploring the new land, and these were swiftly recruited into the Black Prince's service.  Within weeks the Jade Forest was swarming with reinforcements from both Stormwind and Orgrimmar.  The lost continent of Pandaria was lost no longer.

Hoping to see more of the strange land before it was bespoiled by war and outside influences, Wrathion pressed westward, exploring the undulating landscape of the Valley of the Four Winds.  The first time he laid eyes on a mushan, he demanded that Left and Right kill one for him so he could see what it tasted like.  The orc's leg was strong enough by then to get back in action and she and the human found their fighting styles complimented each other remarkably well.

They made a bonfire to roast the mushan, a young specimen with tender meat that proved delicious to all three of their disparate tastebuds.   Unfamiliar constellations sprawled across the sky as they sat around the fire, sheltered in the lee of one of the area's many green hills.

As usual, the Black Prince chose to eat in his true body, sitting so close that flames tickled his toes.  "Mmm!" Wrathion moaned happily, his mouth stuffed so full of mushan that he would barely close it to chew.

"Good," Left agreed.  Juices ran down her chin as she gnawed on a large chunk of meat.

Right was a bit more dignified, slicing bite-sized pieces with her dagger and then eating them off the point, but had no complaints.

Wrathion swallowed enough to speak.  "Tomorrow I want to head north a bit more, if we can.  Those mountains intrigue me.  I can sense the earth rising quite abruptly, and a source of ancient power just beyond."

The guards said nothing.  They had both accepted their roles as his followers, and without other ties or concerns they were content to accompany him wherever his whims took him.

The orc, in particular, had a much more agreeable attitude now.   Part of it was the absence of pain in her leg, no doubt, but she commented occasionally on what a relief it was to be free of Hellscream's war machine.   "When I swore to serve the Horde, it was to carve out a place for our people to live and prosper, not to mindlessly slaughter just because we can," she had muttered once, and Right slowly came to believe her.

The human had never even seen a real orc before the naval battle, having lived her entire life within Stormwind and Elwynn Forest.  Her opinions had been formed from the myriad of sensationalized war stories shared around the tavern.  She still looked at the Horde as an enemy, but if Left no longer considered herself a part of it, well...

"Your Majesty," the orc said, "I mean no disrespect, but...you may be eating too much.  I only say this because I don't want you to get sick."  Her Common had improved with practice, even if her accent was hard for Right to understand sometimes.

Wrathion looked over his shoulder at her, shreds of raw mushan dangling from his chin.  "Your concern--" he started, then chewed and swallowed when his mouth proved too full to speak clearly.  "Your concern is noted and appreciated," he said.  "I think I am capable of judging that for myself, however."

Right spoke up.  "She may have a point, Your Majesty.   This meat is awfully rich, and it's something we've never eaten before.  Best to take it easy."

Wrathion snorted.  "I wasn't aware that either of you were an expert on draconic diets."

"Left's right," the human said, then grinned at how silly that sounded.  "We're just worried about your well-being, my prince--as you instructed us to do."

He frowned, looking back and forth between them.  "I find myself outnumbered," he grumbled.  "Still, I _am_ getting full, so I'll humor you."  Despite his words, he still tore off one last helping of meat before flopping down inches away from the fire and stretching out to sleep.

Right and Left exchanged glances and shrugged.  Whatever their differences, they found themselves united in their protectiveness toward their prince.

The orc looked exhausted from walking all day on her still-mending leg, so Right volunteered to take first watch.  Left nodded in gratitude and stretched out beneath a blanket with her back to the fire.  Right got out the small, portable tea set she had picked up at a Pandaren market and set about brewing herself a hot cup.

The first hour of her watch passed uneventfully, though Left talked in her sleep sometimes and Right found herself wishing she knew enough orcish to guess what she was dreaming about.  If only she had the knack for languages that Wrathion did!

Speaking of their leader, Right noticed that the little dragon was restless.  She kept an eye on him in case it was a nightmare.  He had them often enough that she had learned to wake him before it got too upsetting.

This time he woke of his own accord, however.  He sat up and rubbed his eyes with one paw while holding his belly with the other.

"Everything all right, Your Majesty?" Right whispered.

"Yes, yes," he said unconvincingly, standing slightly bent over.  "I just...  I'll be back soon."  He flew up the hill and disappeared over the crest.

Right smirked knowingly.  "We warned you," she mumbled, shaking her head.  Normally she would have followed him for protection but she suspected he wanted privacy.

It was quite some time before he returned, still looking somewhat unwell.

"Are you all right, my prince?" she asked again.

He landed next to her and slumped forward to rest his chin on the fallen log on which she sat.  "Not a word.  Just brew me some chamomile tea.  Now."

Right raised an eyebrow but did as he asked.

The whelp did his best to look nonchalant despite the fact that he obviously couldn't sit up straight.

While the tea steeped, she sat back down and let one hand wander over until it came to rest on his back.  When he did not object she rubbed his shoulders, and he could not stop a low groan from escaping.

Right remained silent.  As soon as the tea was done--she knew he liked it as hot as possible without it being ruined--she set it before him in a small cup.  She kept her attention on her own drink while he sipped it.  By the time he had finished the cup, he seemed to be feeling a little better.

"Thank you, Right," he said quietly.  "For the tea, and for not giving voice to the 'I told you so' that I know must be rattling around in your head."

A guilty smile spread over her face.  "Of course, Your Majesty."

"I'm going to attempt to get back to sleep, now."   He shuffled toward the fire, where he had pushed away some dirt and ash to make a cozy indentation for himself.  "And, Right?  We don't need to mention any of this to Left."

"It goes without saying.  Good night, my prince."

He nodded in curt approval and laid down with his back to her.

 

* * *

 

As it happened, Wrathion woke up and made another hurried trip over the hill during Left's watch, so keeping the truth from her wasn't an option.  The two guards independently decided to let their prince sleep in a bit later than usual, figuring he needed the extra rest.

When he did stir, it appeared that the chamomile tea, sleep and time had combined to make him feel normal again.  Neither guard said anything, for which he was grateful.

They struck out toward the line of mountains that loomed to the north.  Left was the first to spot a sign of civilization:  a crumbling mogu statue, a yurt, some tents, and what appeared to be a crowd of...gnomes?  No, as they got closer it became apparent that these small folk were something else entirely, with overlong arms and squat bodies covered in silky brown fur.

"Greetings, friends!" one warbled in the Pandaren tongue as they approached.

Wrathion stepped forward in his human form, wary curiosity on his face.  "Good day.  My company and I are looking for a route into the mountains."  He glanced around at the warm clothing, ropes and comically-large backpacks that the strange little people carried.  "It appears you may be headed in the same direction."

"Yes, yes," he said happily.  "It is a lucky day to climb the Path of a Hundred Steps."

"Hundred steps?" Wrathion echoed.

"The passage into the Veiled Stair," the furry creature said, as if that explained everything.

Wrathion successfully hid his annoyance with a charming smile.   "You'll have to excuse my ignorance.  I am not from your land, and I'm afraid this is all quite unfamiliar to me.  I must admit, I'm not even aware of what, exactly, you are.  No offense."

"Oh!" the other said, lifting the wool-lined brim of his hat to squint at the prince with small, beady eyes.  He reminded Wrathion of the gophers that used to plague the garden at Ravenholdt.  "You are from beyond the mists!"

"Yes," Wrathion said, pleased to be finally getting somewhere.

"Oh my, my, it is very good fortune to meet those who have traveled from so far!"  He clapped his hands together in delight.

"Er, well, thank you," the prince said uncertainly.

"We are the grummles.  We know the mountain trails better than anybody!"

"Excellent!  Might I be able to hire some of you to guide us safely into the higher elevations?"

"Grummles are always willing to help a friend!" he said, then waited expectantly.  Despite his comment, it seemed he wanted some kind of payment.

Very well.  Wrathion had pockets full of jewels.  He pulled out a low-quality cut of ametrine that he hadn't gotten around to enhancing yet.

"Ooh!" the grummle gasped, accepting the gem from him with gloved hands.  "I have never seen a luckydo like that before!"

"A lucky what?"

"A luckydo," the grummle said, his wide grin showing off his bucked teeth.  "But the best luckydos smell much stronger than this."   He approached Left, sniffing eagerly.  "You have a good luckydo!   Let's see!"

Left glanced at the prince uncertainly, but he nodded so she reluctantly opened her knapsack.

The grummle gave the gem back to Wrathion and peeked inside her pack.  "Oh yes, yes, this is a great luckydo!" he raved, holding up a stained molar the size of his hand.  Left had pried it out of the mushan's skull while butchering it the day before, intending to keep it a trophy of her first kill in the new land.

Wrathion was flummoxed as to why the stranger would prize a dirty old tooth instead of a precious gem, but he wasn't going to question it.   "I trust that is sufficient to hire a guide?"

"We will be climbing the Path of a Hundred Steps very soon!" the grummle said cheerfully.

Wrathion assumed that meant they were welcome to come along, because the grummle wandered off into the camp and none of the others paid him any attention.

"Odd creatures," he muttered.

His bodyguards said nothing.

"Well, we might as well rest while we can."  He plopped down on a roll of tent canvas, and Left and Right took up positions on either side of him.  "Sit, Left," he instructed, waving her closer.  "Don't strain your leg any more than you have to."

The orc bristled and stood straighter.  "I am quite fit, Your Majesty."

Wrathion shook his head, remembering orcish pride.   "As you wish."

A plump grummle who was even smaller than the rest, and presumably younger, came over and stared at him.

"Hello," Wrathion said, raising an expectant eyebrow.

The young grummle rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment before blurting out, "I love your hat!  You must be a great one to have such a fine luckydo, even if you do smell like a saurok!"  Then, giggling nervously, he scurried away and disappeared in the crowd.

Wrathion blinked.  "Um...thank you?" he said, although the grummle was well out of earshot.

"I think you have an admirer," Right teased quietly.

He shot her an annoyed look and crossed his arms on his chest.

 

* * *

 

Considering how stubby their legs were, it was shocking how easily the grummles scaled the Path of a Hundred Steps.  Wrathion and his guards found themselves lagging behind.  Although the change in altitude didn't bother the dragon, his guards were soon lightheaded and breathless.

"Halfway there," Wrathion said.  "Assuming there really are only a hundred steps.  I've been counting, you see."

Right wheezed and stopped, bent over with her hands on her knees.  "Only fifty more?  Piece of cake."

Left looked confused at the figure of speech.  She was limping visibly but would probably keep going until she collapsed rather than admit to weakness.

"You ladies look like you need a moment," Wrathion said, although his own legs and feet were protesting the climb.  "Let's take a short rest."  He sat down on the next step with a gusty sigh.

Right and Left did not argue.  Several of the grummles stopped with them, despite none of them looking the least bit tired.

When they had caught their breath, they continued on.  By the time Wrathion counted the seventy-fifth step, his legs were burning from the exertion.   He was reluctant to change into his true body in case the grummles were spooked by a dragon, but it was increasingly tempting.

"Why are we doing this again?" Right asked irritably.

"Because," he said with a scowl, "I'm curious about what lies within these mountains.  I sense hidden power and ancient magic."

Right did not look like this was enough motivation but held her tongue.

They ascended into a layer of cool fog after the eighty-fifth step, making it hard to see what lay ahead.  The grummles went fearlessly onward, however, and Wrathion decided to trust their experience.

"Ninety-seven," he panted.   "Ninety-eight..."  He forced his feet to move.   "Ninety-nine...  One hundred!"  He moaned in relief and dropped to his knees in the dirt.  "Thank the Titans!"

Left and Right knelt on either side of him, both struggling to catch their breath.

"Just a bit further, friends!" said a grummle, scurrying past with an annoying amount of energy.  "The Tavern in the Mists awaits!"

Intrigued, Wrathion forced himself to his feet once more and plodded onward.  A quaint building materialized out of the fog on the left side of the road, made out of wood and bamboo in a distinctly Pandaren style.  The grummles milled around outside, chatting with a few Pandaren who were apparently familiar with them.

"Welcome, welcome!  Come in, rest your weary feet!" called a male Pandaren from the doorway.

The Black Prince had never heard a more appealing suggestion.   He called up a reserve of energy from somewhere and hurried toward the tavern.

"Welcome, travelers, to the Tavern in the Mists," the innkeeper said, spreading his arms wide.  "I am Tong.  May I get you something to drink?"

"You certainly may."  Wrathion managed a smile and headed inside with Left and Right in tow.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion had not planned to stay at the Tavern in the Mists indefinitely.  At first Left's bad leg was too swollen to continue up the mountain.  She said nothing, of course, but it was clearly bothering her and she wouldn't be much use as a bodyguard when she could barely stand.  Then Right came down with a head cold from the chilly mountain air.  By the time they were both recovered sufficiently to move on, Wrathion found himself quite content to stay there.

The Path of a Hundred Steps and the Veiled Stair comprised the only land route into Kun Lai, which meant that virtually every adventurer who was exploring Pandaria would have to pass through there.  As the varied faces of the Horde and Alliance drifted through the tavern, Wrathion's mind kicked into overdrive, formulating plans.  Yes, this would be a most convenient spot indeed...

His supply of gemstones may not have impressed the grummles, but Tong was a different story.  He was more than happy to rent a pair of rooms to the strange prince.  Left and Right did not seem to mind sharing a room, and they shadowed him every waking moment anyway so it was really just a place to sleep.   Wrathion's own room was nothing fancy, just a futon, a table with two chairs, a small bureau and a distressingly empty bookcase.

Just as the rogues of Ravenholdt had once scoured the Eastern Kingdoms for books he hadn't read, Wrathion's network of agents across Pandaria began sending him anything they could find:  books, scrolls, collections of legends and poetry, historical accounts, archaeological reports...

Collecting reading material for the prince was not their primary goal, of course.  As his influence spread, he installed agents--he didn't like the word "spies" as that sounded too sinister--in every major settlement on the continent to be his eyes and ears.  He dubbed his followers "Blacktalons," and only accepted the most highly skilled, unquestionably loyal fighters:  Horde or Alliance, it mattered not a bit.  His message boiled down to "Stop fighting amongst yourselves and pay attention to the greater threats to our world, namely the Burning Legion, which is coming soon."  In a world torn by rivalries, strife and war, such unified simplicity was appealing to many.

Although his own agents existed outside the Alliance and the Horde, renouncing all previous loyalties to swear themselves into his service, that did not mean he ignored the champions of those factions.  Far from it.  They would be very useful in their own way, if he could carefully manipulate certain key elements...

His machinations were going smoothly enough, but then fate did him an extra favor by delivering the Crown Prince of Stormwind to his doorstep.

 

It started as a day like any other, in which Tong served a delicious breakfast and adventurers of all stripes came and went.  Some stopped to talk to the Black Prince, offering progress reports on the missions he had assigned to them.  Others glared at him suspiciously and avoided the corner of the tavern where he held court.  Left and Right stood behind him with their weapons prominently displayed, ever alert to any potential danger.

There were those who lumped him in with his corrupted ancestors and refused to have anything to do with him, but most of the champions who passed through were curious about him and greedy for the rewards he offered.  After settling in at the tavern, he made an effort to refine his crafting skills further, and with the untapped potential of Pandaria's resources at his disposal, he improved his gem cutting techniques and blacksmithing constantly.  The lure of his uniquely enhanced gems was more than sufficient to draw many mortal adventurers into his service.

After finishing his breakfast, Wrathion sat at his usual table, studying a gemstone recently delivered by one of his agents from a mine in the Jade Forest.  It was a variety he'd never seen before and wanted to inspect it thoroughly before he attempted to work with it.

"Your Majesty, it is an honor!"

He looked up expectantly but soon realized Tong wasn't speaking to him.  It had been an arduous task convincing and reminding the Pandaren innkeeper to address him with his royal titles.  Who else would deserve such respect?

Tong was in the front doorway, blocking his view of whomever was arriving.  "I hope you enjoy your stay.  If there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable, you need only ask."

"Thank you, I shall," came a pleasant voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

Tong bowed low and backed up, stepping aside to let the newcomer inside.  First two armored soldiers in Stormwind colors entered, surveyed the room, and posted themselves on either side of the door.

Then the person Tong had been addressing limped into the building, leaning heavily on a wooden cane.  Over his golden jacket he wore a blue tabard emblazoned with the lion of Stormwind.  A silver circlet held back pale yellow hair from a face that was attemping to look cheerful but could not quite mask his pain.

Wrathion had only had two fleeting glimpses of him before, but this could only be Anduin Wrynn, Crown Prince of Stormwind.  What in the world was he doing _here_ , of all places?  Rumors spoke of him surviving the shipwreck, but beyond that his whereabouts had been an unknown even to Wrathion's intelligence network.

The human's bright blue eyes took in the tavern's main room with polite interest, then stopped and widened when they came to the elaborately-dressed figure at the corner table.  He approached with a tenative smile, his cane tapping loudly as he walked.  "Greetings," he said.  "You must be the Black Prince, Wrathion."

Respect for someone of supposedly equal rank urged Wrathion to stand, but he declined to bow.  "I am indeed.  And you are Prince Anduin Wrynn."

"The same," he said with what seemed a slightly nervous laugh.  "May I sit?"

"Please do," Wrathion said graciously, taking a seat on the side of the table closest to Left and Right.  "Were you injured in the shipwreck?"

Anduin eased down onto the bench across from him with a wince of pain.  "No, this was a more recent...incident."  He did not offer any more explanation, and the dragon did not push.  There would be time.   "I had heard you were here in Pandaria, and while I'm forced to take it easy I thought it would be a good opportunity to pay you a visit."

Wrathion kept his face neutral but inwardly tensed.   The human prince had suffered greatly at the hands of Onyxia.  Did he blame Wrathion, somehow?  Knowing Right and Left were just behind him eased his anxiety a fraction, but his greater plans would be vastly more difficult if they had to harm the heir to Stormwind's throne.

Anduin made no hostile move, however.  He regarded the Black Prince with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.  "I understand you are free of the corruption that twisted the rest of the black dragonflight."

_And if I am not, you'll want me killed just like the reds did, I suppose,_ Wrathion mused to himself.  Aloud, he said, "I most certainly am.  My egg was purified by Titan technology, and I am quite sane, I assure you.  I wish only to protect Azeroth, as my ancestors did before the taint of the Old Gods seeped in."

Anduin nodded, looking into his red eyes with an intensity that made Wrathion shift his weight uncomfortably.  One of his favorite things about being in Pandaria was meeting people who had no preconceived notions about what black dragons were like.  

"The world can always use another guardian," the human prince said after a moment.

_More than you know_ , Wrathion thought.  He could still see the fel green flames streaking across the sky in his mind's eye.  He sat up straighter.  "I am aware of your past experiences with my flight," he said.   "I cannot exactly apologize for something I had no involvement in that happened before I was even conceived, but I do regret the trauma my predecessors put you through."

Anduin actually looked surprised.  "Um, thank you."

"I do hope you won't hold all that against me."   His tone was airy but his unease was not as hidden as he would have liked.

"Of course not," the human said with what appeared to be a genuine smile.  "Each person should be free to choose their own destiny."

Wrathion gave a curt nod.  "Well said.  And I intend to do right by this fragile world, no matter the cost."

Tong brought over a pot of fresh tea and two cups.  The princes thanked him and each took a sip before continuing their conversation.

"It can't be easy, being the last of your kind," Anduin said thoughtfully.

Wrathion scowled, holding the teacup under his nose to breathe in the steam.   "When the rest of one's kind are crazed monsters, solitude is preferable."  He took another drink.

"Still, it's a heavy burden to bear.  Even when my father was missing, I still had people around who cared about me."  The shadow of grief passed over his face, and Anduin studied his teacup before taking a long sip.

"We dragons aren't quite so...dependent.  And I am hardly alone."  He gestured over his shoulder at his guards.

Anduin eyed them critically.  "They aren't dragons, are they?"

Left looked vaguely offended while Right tried not to smile and failed.

"Of course not," Wrathion snorted.  "They are my bodyguards.  And as you can see, I show no partiality.  Horde or Alliance, orc or human, as long as one has the best interests of Azeroth at heart, they are welcome in my ranks."

Anduin gave an enthusiastic smile.  "It's good to hear someone else believes it's possible for us all to work together!  War is a terrible thing, and there are so many other, better ways we could use our resources."

Wrathion raised an eyebrow at his fervor.  "War is a measure of last resort, but waged intelligently it _can_ result in some long-term benefits...like the continued existence of life on our planet."

The human looked confused.

Wrathion continued.  "Prince Anduin, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I have had several prophetic visions in my lifetime.  The first two came true.  The third and most recent warned of a full-on invasion of Azeroth by the Burning Legion."

Anduin's already fair skin paled.  "When?"

"I don't know.  Not in the next year, from what I can tell, but soon."  Wrathion frowned and took another swallow of tea.   "The world must be united to face this threat, or there will be no hope for any of us."  He suppressed a shiver at the memory of streets stained with blood.   "I am doing everything in my power to prepare any champions who cross my path, but you should bring word back to your people, as well.  You are allied with the draenei, who have more experience than any at combating the Legion."

"I have been studying the Light with the Prophet Velen.   He has seen glimpses of a renewed threat, as well, but he says not all visions come true.  The future can be changed if good people take a stand for what is right."

" _My_ visions have all been accurate."

"All...two of them, did you say?"  The human prince's words carried only mild teasing, an attempt to lighten the mood, but they did not set well with Wrathion's ego.

"My abilities were granted to me directly by an artifact of the Titans.  I have powers the world has not seen since your civilization was throwing rocks at trolls."

Anduin looked more amused than offended.  "Nothing personal, but I hope you're wrong."

Wrathion sighed and stirred his tea.  "So do I."

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Anduin Wrynn settled in at the Tavern in the Mists to spend some of his recovery in the fresh mountain air.  At first Wrathion was annoyed to have attention drawn away from him.  _He_ was supposed to be the only prince around!  He also found his studies interrupted all too often by the inquisitive human striking up conversations.

Anduin's initial nervousness over meeting a black dragon wore off quickly as he realized that the Black Prince was not like Onyxia and the others.   For some infuriating reason he refused to believe that Wrathion wasn't lonely.   The injury to his leg kept him from engaging in any kind of physical activity, but at least once or twice a day he came looking for his draconic counterpart to share something he had read or heard.  The worst part was, most of it was actually interesting.

Wrathion did not _want_ to socialize.  He was _busy._   He had important things to do, a continent of knowledge to absorb, schemes to oversee, intelligence reports to sort out...  He couldn't just sit around and talk about Pandaren folk tales with some pestering human!

So why the hell was it after midnight when it finally occured to him to take his leave and head to bed?

"Oh wow, it is late, isn't it?" Anduin said, yawning as he rose from the table.  The tavern was quiet.  All the _sane_ people had gone to bed long ago.

"We'll have to continue our discussion at a more...reasonable time," Wrathion said, echoing the yawn.  "And you have to stop doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Distracting me from more important matters.  Making me sit up until all hours of the night talking about these idiotic books.  You're a bad influence."

Anduin let out a disbelieving laugh.  "Right. _I'm_ a bad influence on a black dragon."

"A _purified_ black dragon."  He dragged his feet on the way to the stairs, with Left following close behind.  "Oh, and Anduin?"

"Yeah?"

"Do try to remember that bit about the sea giants you mentioned earlier.  We never got back to it and I had some thoughts that I'm far too tired to get into now."

"I'll try."

Left saw Wrathion safely to bed before retiring to her own room.  Another Blacktalon agent guarded the hallway outside overnight.

The Black Prince resumed his natural body and dived onto the futon.  As he got comfortable among the pillows, he remembered something else he had wanted to discuss with Anduin.  There was a legend in the book they had been dissecting that reminded him of a similar tale from troll mythology, and he wanted the other prince's opinion on whether there could be a historical connection between the two.

"Drat," he muttered.  "Friendship is so time-consuming."  Still, for all his bluster and reluctance, he did find himself looking foward to the time they spent together in the evenings.  Anduin was highly educated and intelligent, allowing him to keep up with even Wrathion's Titan-enhanced mind.  As a fellow prince, Wrathion was forced to deal with him as an equal instead of holding himself above, as he did with everyone else.

At first he told himself he was only tolerating the human prince's company because he wanted to maintain cordial relations with the Alliance.   Then he blamed it on guilt over how his dragonflight had treated him in the past.   Now, for the first time, Wrathion admitted to himself that actually enjoyed having a real friend.

He burrowed deeper into the pillows, pulling a second blanket up to his neck.  It was never quite warm enough in his room, but there was no safe way to add a fireplace.

A friend.  Ha!  What did he need one of _those_ for?   He had tremendous duties on his shoulders.  Hanging out with a like-minded individual, discussing topics of mutual interest, was a useless distraction.

Just because Anduin could relate to the experience of being far too young to be thrust into a position of great responsibility, that didn't mean they had to be _friends._   Just because Anduin's mother had died when he was a baby, too, that shouldn't mean they had to sit up all night talking.   Just because they both felt the current war should end as soon as possible, that wasn't a reason to grow _fond_ of each other.  Absurd.

As Wrathion's mind wandered off into slumber, he idly wondered if any of his long-dead clutchmates would have been anything like Anduin.  He would never know, of course, but he liked to think they were as clever as himself.   Well...not _as_ clever, since he was specially made by Titan technology to be the perfect black dragon.  But surely his siblings would have shared some of his intelligence and style, even if they were corrupted.

That night he dreamed of himself and a blue-eyed whelp tumbling around together, playing in the shadow of their mother's wing.


	5. Chapter 5

 

There was a natural hot spring behind the Tavern in the Mists that was a popular relaxation spot for weary travelers.  Wrathion only used it when no one else was around, refusing to share his bath with filthy mortals...or be seen in his rather less intimidating whelp form.

The sun was up, but still casting long shadows over the western side of the tavern.  Wrathion shivered and hurried to shift into his true body so he could dive in without delay.  Blacktalon agents stood watch nearby, blocking the back door of the building in case anyone else decided to use the bath.

The spring wasn't deep enough to completely submerge most mortals, but for a small whelp it was like a shallow swimming pool.  Wrathion paddled along on his stomach, happily breathing in the steam that rose into the chilly morning air.  He somersaulted forward and touched the bottom briefly before bobbing up to float on his back with a contented sigh.

This was the life.  Warm, safe, no one pestering him or judging him...

"The springs are reserved for the Black Prince," snarled a worgen Blacktalon agent.  "Come back later."

Wrathion turned to look at the back door, where his guards were now blocking the path of two soldiers in Stormwind colors.

"Prince Anduin requires a hot bath for medicinal purposes," a human said firmly.

"It's all right," Wrathion called.  "I'll make an exception just this once."

The Blacktalons obediently stepped back and allowed three humans to exit the tavern:  two guards, and, after a moment, Prince Anduin.  He wore a blue silk robe with so much extra fabric that it had probably been originally tailored for a Pandaren.

"Forgive the intrusion, Prince Wra--" he began, then stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the whelp with...fear?

Wrathion realized that the other prince had never seen him in his true form before.  Yet mortals usually refused to take him seriously, or fawned over his cuteness, when they saw him.  This was the first time someone was actually terrified of him.  He grinned smugly.  Perhaps he was finally growing large enough to be intimidating!

Anduin shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked embarrassed.  "Sorry, I just...  The last time I saw a black whelp I was in Onyxia's lair.  It's not a memory I choose to revisit often."

Wrathion's face fell, realizing that he wasn't as formidable a sight as he had hoped.  "Oh.  Of course."  He swam to the edge of the bath and held onto the wooden platform that encircled it.  "I wasn't expecting company, or I might have been more considerate of your...history."

"I can come back, if..." Anduin said uncertainly, still not stepping any closer.

"It's quite all right," Wrathion said airily.   "As you can see, I don't take up much room.  I'm loathe to share my bath with any _commoners_ , but since you _are_ a fellow prince..."  He tried to give a reassuring smile without showing his sharp teeth.

Anduin regained his poise and nodded.  One of his guards helped him out of his loose robe, leaving him clad only in the barest of underclothes, and a bandage wrapped around one knee.  His pale skin was marred by numerous large bruises that had faded into yellowish-brown patches but had clearly been quite severe at some point in the recent past.  Wounds that had closed but not yet turned into scars also marked his torso and legs.

The human prince handed his cane to a guard and carefully stepped into the hot spring.  He sat down, and, finding the water did not cover as much of his chest as he wanted, slouched down until he was submerged up to his collarbones.  He gave a weary sigh and made a visible effort to relax his tense muscles.

Wrathion was silent, unsure if he should comment on the human's injuries or not.

Anduin spared him the awkwardness of asking, however.   After a minute of soaking, he opened his eyes and smiled.  "I should have done this sooner.  It feels amazing on all my sore parts.  I had a run-in with the Horde, you see.  I managed to stop their warchief from doing something terrible, but...  It was a dearly-bought victory."

"I see.  Considering how squishy you humans are, you're lucky to be alive."

"Very," Anduin said, looking amused rather than offended.  "The Light has further use for me, it seems."

"Well, if I were one of those meddling _red_ dragons, I would offer to heal your wounds, but as I am not...  I'm afraid my skill set, impressive though it is, would be quite useless in that regard."

Anduin grinned.  "Thanks anyway.  The Light has already healed as much as possible.  The rest is up to time.  So...you have powers over the earth element, then?"

"Indeed," Wrathion said eagerly.  "I can shape stone and steel on a whim, and turn common gemstones into highly powerful talismans."

"Onyxia just used lava geysers to attack people."   His tone was flippant but his eyes had a troubled cast.

"I can't say that I've ever worked with lava," Wrathion said after a moment.  "I imagine I could, if I tried.   I generally prefer to use my powers in a more helpful, less destructive manner."

"Good to hear."

They soaked for a few minutes in silence.  Curiosity urged Wrathion to ask more questions about what Onyxia was like, but he held his tongue.   The human prince was obviously distressed by the memories, and for the first time since Fahrad's death the Black Prince found himself actually caring about someone else's comfort.

The reminder of his late guardian made him immediately melancholy, and he let go of the edge of the bath to float on his back again.   "Anduin?"

"Yeah?"

"You're still quite young for one of your kind, yet from what I've heard you've experienced the death of many loved ones.  How do you continue on, carrying that kind of grief inside you?"

Anduin looked a little surprised by the change of topic, but gave a sad smile.  "The Light gives me strength.  And you carry on because the people who have passed would want you to live your life to the fullest.  The love and knowledge they left behind will always be inside you.  As years pass, eventually the good memories become stronger than the painful ones.  It's never easy, but time does heal."

Wrathion considered this.  It hadn't even been quite a full year since Fahrad's death, and the grief--when he allowed himself to acknowledge it, which wasn't often--was still raw.  "If time heals, perhaps I should send an envoy to the bronze dragonflight," he quipped, trying to downplay his own emotion.

Anduin merely smiled.

"And you, my dear prince, have only a century or less to live, while my kind lasts at least ten times that long."

"I might last another eighty years or so...assuming I don't run into Garrosh Hellscream again, anyway," Anduin said with a self-deprecating grimace.

"Hmm, yes, well, as I said...humans are squishy."

"Thank you for not saying 'tasty.'" 

Wrathion backpedaled in the water and raised his nose in exaggerated offense.  "I would never eat anything _sentient_!  Ugh, the very thought is abhorrent."

Anduin chuckled.  "Just checking."

Wrathion flapped his wings, inadvertently splashing water at the human, and flew onto dry land.  "However, whatever Tong is cooking for breakfast smells heavenly, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going inside now."

Anduin nodded amiably.  "Of course.  If the fruit talks back, let me know."

Wrathion shifted into his human form and adjusted his turban, shooting a disgusted look in Anduin's direction.  "If my breakfast needs an exorcism, you'll be the first one I call for."

He laughed.  "All right."

The Black Prince smirked and went back into the tavern.

 

* * *

 

After a thankfully quiet breakfast, Wrathion met with a group of adventurers who had returned from the Mogu'shan Vaults with a collection of sigils for him to study.  He rewarded them handsomely and immediately began to pore over the small stone discs.  Eager to learn everything he could about Pandaria's ancient rulers, he skipped lunch completely and lost himself in a daze of concentration.

When evening fell, he finally shook himself out of his reverie and attended to the rest of his correspondence.  Reports came in from all over the continent, keeping him apprised of the latest developments and discoveries.

Anduin joined him for supper.  The human did not share his fascination with the mogu, dismissing them as cruel tyrants.  Wrathion tried to explain how impressive their accomplishments had been despite their questionable morals, but Anduin could not see past their history of slavery and oppression.  Instead the conversation turned to the destruction of Theramore.

"Surely after that debacle even _you_ can understand the desire for revenge," Wrathion scoffed.

"I can understand it, yes," Anduin said, slicing off another chunk of the mushan steak Tong had served.  "But I still don't think acting on it is a good idea.  The cycle of violence has to stop sometime.  Aunt Jaina used to agree with me, but since Theramore's destruction..."  He sighed.   "She's angry, and hurting, and not thinking clearly."

"Crushing one's enemies until nothing remains to rebuild and resist you is often a sensible course of action."

Anduin scowled.  "That's not true."

"If your Alliance had exterminated the rest of the orcs after the Second War instead of keeping them in prison camps, the Horde would not exist today, and this war wouldn't be happening.  Theramore would still be standing."   He glanced over his shoulder at his guards.  "Nothing personal, Left.   Just speaking hypothetically."

The orc grunted softly, not looking particularly offended.

"Maybe so, but the Burning Legion would not have been defeated at Hyjal without the orcs' help," Anduin said.

"One cannot state that for certain.  As I understand it, nature spirits summoned by kaldorei druids were the key to victory."

"In the end, yes, but without the orcs to help hold back the demon forces, they wouldn't have had enough time to prepare before Archimonde reached the World Tree."

"We're getting hung up on specific examples," Wrathion said after a drink of tea.  "My point is, wars will always happen.   The important thing is to make sure they accomplish something decisive, instead of simply reestablishing the status quo."

"War is never the answer," Anduin insisted.

"In a perfect world, perhaps not.  But our world is far from perfect, my prince."  Wrathion took a bite of steak, grateful that he could now use silverware adeptly without embarrassing himself.

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't keep trying to make it better."

"Certainly.  I sense we disagree on acceptable methods to achieve that, however."

Anduin frowned deeply.  "I guess so."

"Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of resorting to the underhanded trickery that your 'Lady Prestor' engaged in.  But if violence is the only language your enemy speaks..."  He shrugged.

Anduin chewed and swallowed a bite of buttered dinner roll before speaking again.  "You asked me about grief earlier."

"Yes.  What of it?"

"We agreed that it wasn't a pleasant feeling."

"Quite true."

"War and violence cause grief.  They spread it like a plague.  Everyone who dies is someone's child, sibling, or spouse.  For every soldier who falls, ripples of grief continue outward, extending the suffering far beyond the battlefields."

"No one said war was _fun_ , Anduin.  But if winning one makes the difference between Azeroth continuing on as a thriving, living world, or turning into a lifeless wasteland, then it is necessary."

Anduin shook his head stubbornly.  "There is always another way."

Wrathion sneered.  "Such naivete is dangerous in a future ruler."

"I'm not naive.  I've been through more than _you_ can imagine.  That doesn't mean I can't have hope for a better future."

The dragon snorted.  "Hope is a wonderful thing.   But reality is not always so kind."

Anduin threw his napkin onto the table in disgust and stood with the aid of his cane.  "Apologies, Black Prince.  I forgot that, with your _long_ life experience, you had everything figured out."

Wrathion gasped indignantly.  "And just what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"If you stubbornly cling to your own opinions without even trying to consider other viewpoints, you're never going to grow.  True wisdom comes from opening your mind to all possibilities."

"You sound like a Pandaren monk," Wrathion said with a thin, mocking smile.

"They have some good ideas," Anduin snapped.   "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire for the night."

"Go, then," Wrathion sniffed, making a shooing gesture.

It was impossible to stomp off in a huff with an injured leg and a cane, but Anduin limped to the stairs as quickly as he could.

Wrathion went back to his supper, grumbling about silly humans and their stubborn, short-sighted ideas.

Short-sighted, and short-lived...  Their earlier conversation had nagged at his mind all day.  Anduin Wrynn, the first friend he had ever really had--and he _was_ a friend, despite this evening's clash--would be dead of old age by the time Wrathion was an adult.  So would Right, Left, and most of his other Blacktalons.  The elves would last a bit longer, but of all the mortals in his service, only the few draenei would live as long as he would.

Anduin may have lost more loved ones in his nearly two decades of life than Wrathion had so far, but in the long run the Black Prince would have him beat ten times over.  If, that is, he allowed himself to care about members of such short-lived races.  Perhaps this was the reason why dragons called the humans, orcs, trolls and such "mortals," despite the fact that only the Aspects themselves were truly ageless.  Dragons did not live forever, but to the smaller races of the world it must seem like they did.

He pushed the last scraps of meat around on his plate, finding his appetite diminished.  All the unnecessary spices and garnishes Tong added were to blame.  It certainly wasn't because he was feeling _sad_ about outliving nearly everyone he knew.  Why did the innkeeper insist on ruining perfectly good meat by mixing it with all that useless rice, sauce and greenery?  And it was _always_ overcooked for the dragon's tastes.  He could go hunting for himself, of course, but he never seemed to find the time.

Complaining silently about the food almost succeeded in distracting him from thoughts of mortality, but then a scrap of conversation reached him over the din of other travelers eating.  A dwarf was comforting a human who looked like she had been crying recently.

"There, there, lass, I know it's hard.  I remember when my grandpappy passed on, me brother an' sisters an' I carried on so much that my grandmama actually told us to stop all the cryin', or we'd make it rain."  He gave a nostalgic chuckle.  "Here she was, mournin' her husband, and she was more worried 'bout us wee ones.  That's how it goes, though.  Your grandpappy would want ye to be happy."

"I will be, eventually," the woman said with a grateful smile that did not touch her bloodshot, watery eyes.  "I just wish I could have seen him one last time.  He seemed fine when I left for Pandaria.  I mean, he was in his nineties so it's not like it was totally unexpected, but..."  She shook her head and blinked back fresh tears.

The dwarf continued consoling her, but Wrathion stopped listening.  A human in his nineties was considered to be very old, and his death a natural course of events.  When Wrathion was that age, he would be in the first awkward stages of true adulthood, almost physically mature enough to take a mate and father whelps.

He stirred his tea and stared into the swirling liquid.   Fates willing, he would live that long, but as for a potential mate...  There were no other black dragons left.  He had seen to that with ruthless precision.

Giggles came from a nearby table, where a couple of smitten goblins were feeding each other bits of fruit and holding hands.  Wrathion wrinkled his nose.  Such absurdity seemed like a colossal waste of time to him.  Perhaps he would understand when he was older and had the proper hormones flowing through him.  For the moment he was less concerned with romantic companionship and more worried about what would happen to Azeroth if he did not leave any heirs to help protect it.

Regarding the other dragonflights, well...  He had researched the possibilities, of course.  It was important to know all one's options.  Social taboos among dragons had made cross-flight breeding almost unheard of and was usually less than successful.

That was assuming the other flights would want anything to do with him, which was far from assured.  The bronzes made him uneasy with their mysterious knowledge of the future, not to mention the potential threat of the infinite dragonflight.  The greens seemed too detached from the physical world for his liking.   He felt a certain sympathy for the blue dragonflight, which had suffered its own kind of corruption, lost its Aspect, and barely escaped extinction on more than one occasion.  And, of course, he _never_ wanted to see another red dragon as long as he lived.  

Still, he had nothing in particular against the other three flights and could imagine a tentative alliance with them at some point in the future.   Their help in battle against the Burning Legion would certainly be welcome, but more than that was probably unwise.  Mixing his pure blood with another flight's would do Azeroth no good in the long term. 

Wrathion nodded absently at Tong when the innkeeper asked if he was done eating and cleared the table.

The ideal situation would be to somehow repeat the process that led to his own creation, and produce another purified black whelp.  To the best of his knowledge, however, it had taken the remains of three other hatchlings to cobble together his own genetic material, and there were precisely zero black eggs to work with now, even if he could find the Titan artifact.  He had no idea where it was, what it was called, or how it worked, so...the outlook wasn't good.

As he heard tales of mogu fleshcrafting, the thought had occured to him that perhaps it would be possible to take a stone dragon and bring it to life.  That wouldn't be a true black dragon, though.

Another option would be to find proto-dragons in Northrend and attempt to evolve them as the Titans had, but that seemed even more far-fetched.

No, Wrathion had decided, it was highly unlikely that he would ever have a mate and brood of his own.  Considering what had happened to the rest of his flight, it was probably just as well.  He didn't _need_ a family, after all.  It would be a dozen centuries or more before his natural lifespan ran its course, and until then he could certainly protect Azeroth on his own.

At least, he hoped so.  If the Burning Legion had their way, no one on Azeroth would live long enough to die of old age.

He finished off his tea and retired to his room without a word to anyone.

 

* * *

 

Prince Anduin avoided him the next day, but on the second day after their argument he approached the table where Wrathion was sitting.  One of the Horde's champions, a troll mage, had just finished exchanging mogu carvings for a gem that glowed with draconic power.

Anduin waited until the troll left before speaking.   "Wrathion, there's something upstairs I want you to see."  He was smiling pleasantly--a bit _too_ pleasantly, as if he was trying very hard to put any hurt feelings behind him.

"I am busy," Wrathion said icily, not looking up from the mogu runestones.

"Those will still be there later."

"And whatever you want to show me won't?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah, but...  Come on, you never do anything fun."

He glowered at the human prince.  "How would you know what I find _fun_?  I happen to enjoy deciphering mogu inscriptions.   They're a fascinating people."

Anduin crossed his arms on his chest and drummed his fingers against one elbow.

"What?  I am not at your beck and call, Anduin Wrynn."

He sighed.  "All right, look.  Remember that collection of Pandaren folklore we were talking about last week?"

"My memory is functioning quite well, yes."

Ignoring the dragon's condescending sneer, Anduin continued.   "There was that tale about the widower and the jinyu, where they played some kind of game and we didn't know what it was?"

"Yes," Wrathion said impatiently.

"I found the game.  It's called _jihui_.   Tong had a game board with all the pieces, so I had him set it up in the common room upstairs.  He taught me the basics.  I can show you how to play it, if you want."

Wrathion's frown faded as curiosity made him forget how annoyed he was with the human.  "Well, I admit that sounds intriguing.  I suppose I can look at these runestones this evening.  Give me a moment to put them someplace safe."

Anduin's grin broadened.  "Great!  I'll go get the board ready."

Wrathion watched him limp toward the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane yet just as cheerful as ever.  A small smile crept onto his face.  The human might only live for a fraction of a dragon's lifetime, but Wrathion would deal with the grief when it came.  For now, he was immensely grateful for a friend who could disagree with him and still come back asking to play a game together. 

There were mortals whose experiences with the black dragonflight were not nearly as terrible as Anduin's who refused to even give him a chance.  They took one look at his glowing red eyes and dismissed him as just another evil black dragon.  The fact that Anduin, who had suffered so much at the hands of his flight, could get past that to see him as an individual was almost unbelievable to the Black Prince.

After packing the mogu artifacts carefully into the locked chest he kept in a guarded alcove, Wrathion headed for the stairs.  "Tong, a fresh pot of tea, please."

"Of course, Your Majesty.  What kind?"

He paused, considered for a moment, then smirked.   "Whatever is appropriate for playing games with a friend."  He rushed upstairs too quickly to see the Pandaren's bow.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Anduin Wrynn watched over the top of his book as the Black Prince met with some of his champions.  His friend had been cranky all morning, and his patience was fraying even further.

"No, nineteen sigils is not sufficient!" he snapped.   "I asked for _twenty_.  I was under the impression that your race was known for being good with numbers.  Was I mistaken?"

The goblin in front of him stammered in outrage.

"Leave my presence now and don't return until you have precisely what I asked for.  This is serious business and I have no time to deal with slackers."

The goblin stormed out of the tavern.

Anduin raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  Normally the Black Prince fawned over his champions, stroking their egos and making grand promises about the epic things they would accomplish by working together.

Next a night elf huntress approached, a sleek gray panther padding obediently at her heels.  "Your Majesties," she said, bowing to both princes.

"What is it?" Wrathion asked impatiently.

"I have just returned from the Krasarang wilds," she said.

"I can _smell_ that.  What do you have to report?"

Taken aback, the night elf hesitated before saying, "The Horde made a push to take over some of the mogu ruins in the area, but our forces repelled them.  The Explorer's League is back at work, excavating for more artifacts."

"I knew about that _days_ ago.  Have they found anything noteworthy?"

"N-not yet, Your Majesty."

"Then don't waste my time until they do."

"Yes, sir," the elf said quickly, then hurried out the door with her cat close behind.

Anduin finally had to speak up.  "You're in quite a mood today."

Wrathion whirled to face him, eyes blazing.  "My mood is none of your business."

"Well, I _was_ going to ask you for a game of _jihui_ after lunch, but at this rate you'd bite my head off, so I think I'll find something else to do."

"Do that," he said with a disdainful sniff.   " _Some of us_ have important, world-saving business to attend to!   No thanks to these incompetent, slothful, inefficient, so-called champions!   Do you know how many of them got killed last week by standing in _obvious_ puddles of mantid poison?"

The human prince made a valiant attempt not to laugh, but the resulting smile was enough to set Wrathion over the edge.

"You think it's funny?  See how amusing it all seems when we've got demons up our eyebrows and no one's prepared!"  He stood up, kicked over his stool, and stomped to the stairs.  "Tong, lunch in my room.   None of that horrid salad, just meat.  Raw.  And when I say raw, I mean _raw_!   Restore the animal's body temperature, nothing more!  How many times do I have to say that?  And no spices!"  With that, he stormed up the stairs and out of sight.  A moment later there was a loud bang as he slammed his door shut.

Everyone in the tavern looked at each other with wide eyes, then shrugged and went back to their business.  Anduin put a bookmark in the tome of troll history he had been reviewing and turned to Left and Right, who were still guarding the Black Prince's table.

"Is he okay?" Anduin asked quietly.  "I know he has moments when he acts his age, but good grief!"

Right gave a knowing smile but said nothing.  Left just glared at him.

"If there's anything I can do..."  Anduin shrugged at the human bodyguard.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss His Majesty's personal matters," she said under her breath.

Anduin frowned and returned to his book.

A few minutes had passed when a female voice came from directly behind him, and he jumped.  Right hadn't made a sound as she moved to where he sat.   "Your Majesty, may I share an interesting bit of trivia with you?"

Anduin regarded her suspiciously for a moment before putting his book down again.  "Certainly."

"I'm just saying this to make conversation, you understand.  There's no particular reason why I thought of this right now, but...   When dragon whelps reach a certain age--say, two years or so--their horns start to grow in.  It's really uncomfortable, from what I've heard, sort of like human babies teething.  Soaking in hot water helps somewhat, but they're still pretty miserable for awhile."

He nodded slowly.  "Ah.  I see."

"Just a random bit of information I suddenly thought of, completely out of the blue.  But you didn't hear it from me."

"Of course."  Anduin smiled graciously.

Right returned to her post, receiving an annoyed look from Left.

The human prince grabbed his cane and headed upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion shifted back into his true body and flew up onto the bureau where a wash basin stood full of water.  It had cooled to room temperature since early that morning when he last used it, so he took a moment to heat it with his flame breath.  As soon as it was steaming, he inhaled deeply and stuck his head underwater.

When he could hold his breath no longer, he lifted his head up with a gasp.  He gingerly touched the bumps on either side of his head and winced.   "Titans damn it," he grumbled.  He hopped into the basin and laid back so the only part of his head above water was his snout.  He sighed in relief and began to relax.

Fahrad has warned him that it would be somewhat unpleasant when his horns started to grow in, but he had neglected to mention the throbbing, unrelenting pressure that set his nerves on edge and made everything, even speaking, a chore.   His energy level in general had been low lately, which he assumed was also related, although Fahrad hadn't said anything about that, either.

The sound was muffled by water, but he noticed the Blacktalon sentry outside the door to his room talking to someone, and he reluctantly lifted his head to listen.

"The Black Prince is not to be disturbed."

"I just thought he seemed like he was in pain, and I might be able to help."

"Absolutely not."

Wrathion wiped water out of his eyes and blinked in surprise.   Anduin wanted to _help_ him?  That's what friends did, he supposed, and they were friends, so it should not have shocked him.  Still, he had not expected the human to notice anything amiss.  He was both touched at the other prince's thoughtfulness and annoyed that his attempts to hide his discomfort were not as successful as he had hoped they would be.

"Well, tell him to send for me if he needs a healer," Anduin said, sounding disappointed.  "I've never used the Light on a dragon before, but I'd be glad to try."  The tap of his cane on the wooden floor receded down the hallway and all was silent again.

Wrathion sat for a moment, tempted to take him up on the offer.   No, that was foolish.  He was the Black Prince.  He didn't need some silly human to _heal_ him when what was happening to his body was perfectly natural.  Every other dragon in existence had gotten through this, and he would too.

He gave the water another blast of fire to get it steaming even more, and laid back with a moan.  "Grow, already," he muttered, pressing his paws over the tender bumps.

 

* * *

 

It was four whole days later--not that Wrathion was counting--when the tips of his horns finally broke through.  He awoke after another restless night and sensed immediately that the incessant pressure was better.  He sprang up and flew to the mirror, then broke into a wide grin.  Twin nubs of shiny horn greeted him from just behind and above each temple.

"Aha!" he crowed, puffing himself up proudly.   "At last!"  He turned in front of the mirror to admire himself from every angle.  "Very nice, quite symmetrical...  My, my."

His instinct was to fly downstairs and show off, but he knew that only a fellow dragon would understand the significance.  Everyone would still see him as a small, unimpressive whelp more suited for a pet battle arena than coordinating the defense of the world.

He sighed and shifted into his human form.  At least now he could wear his turban without pain.

As soon as he opened the door, Left and Right snapped to attention, although he was certain they had heard him up and about inside so they were expecting him to emerge soon.

"Good morning," he said amiably.

"Your Majesty," Left said with a bow.  "The human prince asked us to pass along an invitation to join him for a fishing trip down into the Valley of the Four Winds."

"A what?"

"A fishing trip, sir.  An excursion to try catching fish."

"I understand the concept," he said snidely.  "Why in the world would he think I'd be interested in such a pointless exercise?  I don't even particularly _like_ fish."

Right smiled and leaned in to speak quietly.  "He's being friendly."

"By asking me to waste time looking for fish when there is plenty of perfectly adequate food downstairs?"

His bodyguard looked like she wanted to laugh but did not.   "Getting the fish isn't the point, my prince.  It's about relaxing, enjoying nature, and spending time together."

He considered this with a puzzled frown.  "This is a human thing, isn't it?"

"Not just humans," Left offered.  "Fishing is a popular pastime among most races."

"Don't dragons hunt together sometimes?" Right asked.

Wrathion clenched his jaw.  "Some may, if they aren't the last living member of their flight," he muttered.

Right gave an apologetic smile.  "Sorry, Your Majesty.  I didn't mean to...you know."

He sighed.  "It's quite all right, Right."   The ridiculous sound of this made his scowl soften into a faint smile.   "I worked very hard to make things this way.  Did our dear Prince Anduin say when he was leaving?"

"After breakfast, sir," Left said.

"Very well.  I suppose I can humor him.  It never hurts to learn about others' customs."  He straightened his turban and headed downstairs.

 

* * *

 

Two armored guards in Stormwind colors stood at the end of the rickety pier near the Pandaren village of New Cifera, eyes fixed on the small rowboat adrift in the middle of the lake.  Although they were much less visible, Wrathion knew Blacktalon watchers were also keeping an eye on them.

"What are they supposed to do if something happens?" Wrathion asked, gesturing toward the guards.  "They're wearing _plate armor_.   If they try to swim out here they'll sink and drown long before reaching you."

Anduin chuckled and leaned back in his seat, gently flicking his fishing pole to cast a bit further away.  "It's a formality, really.   And I'm sure they have orders not to let me sneak off by myself again."

"I don't imagine you're much good at sneaking when you have to walk with a cane," Wrathion said with a smirk.  He did his best to mimic the way Anduin held the fishing pole, but he still felt downright silly.

Ignoring the jab, the human prince reeled in a bit of line and cast again.  Finally satisfied with where the lure landed, he settled back and closed his eyes.  "Isn't this relaxing?"

Wrathion looked from the stick in his hands to the bucket of bait sitting between them on the bottom of the rowboat.  The worms and grubs they were using as bait were just as edible to him as any fish they might catch, albeit somewhat less filling.  "It seems rather pointless," he said, waving his pole from side to side to make interesting patterns in the water.

"Don't do that, you'll scare the fish away," Anduin warned.

"We don't seem to be catching any, regardless of what we do or don't do," Wrathion huffed impatiently.

Anduin looked unconcerned.  "Patience, Black Prince.   Just enjoy the moment."

The dragon sneered.  "Enjoy sitting around waiting for some fish to be stupid enough to bite a worm on a hook?  It would be far more efficient to just go _buy_ some."

Anduin shook his head and smiled tolerantly.   "Wrathion, you're missing the point.  Just relax and look at nature all around you.  It's nice and quiet out here; nobody's pestering you to make important decisions.  You can be yourself."

"Who else would I be?" he asked, irritated by the human's perpetually cheerful demeanor.

"There's nobody here to impress or win over.  You don't have to worry about saying or doing something dumb."

He raised his nose.  "I have _never_ said a dumb thing in my entire life."

Anduin laughed.  "Right."

"I was created by Titan technology to be the _perfect_ black dragon."

"Nobody's perfect, Wrathion.  Not even you."

"Oh?  Name one thing you have witnessed that I have done wrong."

"The way you're holding that fishing pole, for starters."

Wrathion looked down at it and frowned.  "How can there be a wrong way to hold a stick?  The end with the hook is in the water.   What more is there to know?"

"You're fidgeting with it way too much, and if you moved your hands forward a little bit it would balance better so you don't have to keep your arms so tense."

"Oh."  He attempted to correct all this while making a sour expression.  "Well, when it comes to important things, I'm still flawless."

"Mmm hmm.  No doubt."  Anduin's tone was skeptical but his smile never wavered.

Wrathion slouched and tried to ignore him.

Neither prince spoke for at least twenty minutes, simply looking out over the greenish water dotted with lily pads and lotus flowers.  Spindly bugs skittered across the water's surface, and high overhead a flock of white birds passed in front of the sun.  It was an idyllic scene.  

Wrathion appreciated it for what it was, but did they really need the excuse of catching fish to come here and admire the view?  If he wanted to commune with nature--which he did quite regularly, especially at Mason's Folly--he simply did so.  He didn't need to make up some spurious reason for it.

Anduin shifted his weight in the boat, wincing as his bad leg cramped up from sitting in the same place for too long.

This reminded Wrathion how fragile and short-lived humans were.    They had to cram a lifetime of experiences into a mere century or less.   No wonder they were seldom content to do just one thing at the time. 

He was in danger of nodding off when Anduin straightened up suddenly and began reeling in his line.  "I've got something!"

Wrathion watched as a square-nosed fish with a forked tail emerged on the end of Anduin's line, scales flashing brightly in the sun as it thrashed in a fruitless attempt to free itself.  It wasn't the sort of catch that one would have mounted as a trophy, but it was large enough to make a meal.

"All right!" Anduin cheered, scooping the fish into the boat.  "What a beauty.  I haven't seen this kind before."

Wrathion leaned over to look closer, unimpressed.   "It is, indeed, a fish.  Congratulations," he said flatly.

Anduin held the gasping creature up, admiring it from several angles, before carefully removing the hook from its mouth.  He put one hand over its face and murmured a healing spell to mend the wound left by the hook, then gently dropped it back into the water.

"What are you _doing?_ " Wrathion cried.

"I don't know if that kind is any good to eat," Anduin explained.  "And there's no sense in taking a life for no reason.   We'll eat well tonight regardless."

Wrathion gawked at him in disbelief.  "We have sat in this rickety little boat for over an hour, waiting for a fish to bite, and when you finally catch one, you _throw it back_?  Are you completely out of your mind, or is this some kind of joke?"

Anduin sighed.  "If you're really not having any fun we can head back."

The disappointment in the human's blue eyes made Wrathion reluctantly shake his head.  "No, no, carry on.  I guess I'm just...missing something."

Anduin put fresh bait on his hook and made another cast.   "It's all right.  Not everyone enjoys the same hobbies.  Apparently my mother hated fishing.  Or so I've heard."

"I haven't the slightest idea what my mother was like," Wrathion said distantly, no longer even making a pretense of fishing.   His pole sat forgotten beside him, line still dangling in the water.  "I like to imagine I got some of my discerning taste from her.  It certainly couldn't have come from my father."  He gave a humorless laugh.

"Yeah, we weren't too pleased with the renovations he made to Stormwind," Anduin quipped.

"Subtlety was not his strong suit," Wrathion said with a snort.

"It's a little hard to be subtle when you're the size of a mountain."

"True."  He suppressed a shudder.   "Not to mention dripping lava all over."

"That too."  Anduin massaged the sore muscles around his knee for a moment, then said, "That was awfully rude, the other day, how some of those adventurers were talking about slaying Deathwing when you were sitting at the next table."

"How is it rude?  I _wanted_ him dead.  I sent my personal champion along to assist."

"Well, yes, but...  Surely you didn't miss the way they were bragging about killing dangerous dragons while looking right at you.  It sounded like a threat."

Wrathion swatted at a gnat who was determined to fly up his nose.  "Oh, that.  It's not the first time people have postured around me to, uh, 'remind me of my place,' so to speak."  He frowned.  "As if I am not already acutely aware of my ancestors' failings.  They want to make sure I know that they'll take my head off if I don't behave the way they think I should.   I've been hearing similar threats since before I hatched."  He crossed his arms on his chest and slouched.  "There are those who would strike me down now, before I grow any more powerful.  Their only experiences with black dragons have been marked with fire and blood."  He paused, looking over at Anduin with a subdued half-smile.  "Not everyone is as open-minded as you, my dear prince."

Anduin, whose past interactions with the black dragonflight had been nearly fatal, looked away modestly.  "I just try to treat others the way I would like to be treated."

Wrathion glanced at the Stormwind guards on the pier but still saw no sign of his Blacktalons.  He knew they were around, however.  Although he accepted agents with a wide variety of skills into his ranks, his history with rogues made them his favored allies.  "What people like that fail to realize is, I have already taken steps to ensure I do not follow my father's path into darkness.  My Blacktalon guards are not only there to protect _me_.  They have orders to do...whatever they must, should I fall into corruption."

Anduin's eyes widened.  "Is that really necessary?"

"I don't know," he said honestly.  "I certainly hope not.  I have never heard the Old Gods' whispers, and my will is my own.  I would prefer not to take any chances, however.  I'm sure my father didn't believe he was in danger of losing control until it was too late.  If one of the other Aspects had only noticed the change in him...  Ah, but what's past is past.   I can only go forward, knowing that my trusted agents will not let me wreak as much destruction as he did, if the worst happens."

Anduin reeled in his line and made another cast, his expression troubled.  "I hope it never comes to that."

"As do I, obviously," Wrathion said, trying to lighten the mood with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.  "I have every intention of being around for millenia to come."

"Say hi to my great-great-grandchildren," the human said with a cheeky smile.

"Certainly.  I'll tell them about how their great-great-grandfather dragged me along on a ridiculous fishing trip, and threw back the only fish he caught."

Anduin laughed.

Eager to steer the conversation away from his own personal matters, Wrathion blurted, "Tell me about _your_ father."

The other prince turned to look at him with surprise.  "My father?  What about him?"

"You know, what is he like, what kind of a ruler is he, that sort of thing," Wrathion said quickly, trying too hard to be nonchalant.

Anduin raised an eyebrow, but if he suspected the dragon was asking for political reasons rather than personal ones, he gave no sign.  "Well, it's not easy being a king.  You have to weigh so many different factors when making any decision.   What's good for the nobles may not be good for the merchants.  What's good for the tradesmen might not be good for the military.  That sort of thing.  I think sometimes my father looks at everything from a warrior's point of view, but the right decision on a battlefield is not always the right decision in the council chamber."   Anduin slowly swayed his fishing pole back and forth.  "He's getting better, though.  He loves his people and he wants what's best for the kingdom as a whole.  We just don't always agree on the best ways to achieve that."

Wrathion thought back to the conversation he had overheard in the library of Stormwind keep all those months ago, when Pandaria was just a forgotten legend.

"I know he wishes I were more like him," Anduin continued.  "It wasn't easy convincing him that I wanted to devote myself to studying the Light, instead of learning to swing a broadsword."

"Paladins do both, do they not?"

Anduin smirked.  "There are only so many hours in the day.  As Crown Prince, I have a lot of duties to attend to.  Much as I would like to spend more time on my studies, the kingdom comes first.  Someday the crown will fall to me, and I must be ready."

Wrathion bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow in thought.   Despite calling himself the Black Prince, there was no kingdom waiting for him to rule.  He had no subjects, no domain to defend...  And yet he did, in a sense.   All of Azeroth was his charge.

If Anduin ever thought about the differences between their situations, he never showed it.  The human treated him as an equal.  No one had ever done that.

"Do kings ever find time to go fishing?" Wrathion asked.

"Not as often as they would like," Anduin said with a sad smile.

"Then you'd better enjoy it while you can," he said, settling back against the side of the boat.

"You're not bored?"

"Oh, I am.  At least, bored with this fishing nonsense.  But this is a pleasantly tranquil spot.  I'll just enjoy the scenery while you...do whatever it is you're doing."

Noting that his bobber had drifted too close to a clump of lilypads, Anduin reeled in his line and made a fresh cast.

The gentle rocking of the boat combined with the lap of the water and the warm sun to make Wrathion more and more sleepy.  His chin slowly came to rest against the red gem at the throat of his jacket, and his turban tipped over his eyes.

The next thing he knew, the sun had moved to the other side of a nearby tree, and Anduin was tapping him on the shoulder.  "Wake up and grab an oar.  It's time to head back."

Wrathion pushed the turban back up onto his head and rubbed his eyes.  "Oh.  I guess I fell asleep.  I apologize.  It's not a comment on your company."

Anduin grinned and handed him an oar.  "No offense taken."

As they fell into the rhythm of rowing together, Wrathion looked around the boat curiously.  "Did you ever catch a fish worth keeping?"

"Nope," Anduin said, not sounding too disappointed.

"Then this was all a waste of time."

"Not really.  We got to spend an afternoon in a beautiful place, relaxing and getting to know each other better."

"We could have done all that without dragging around a bucket of worms and these silly poles."

Anduin simply laughed and shook his head.


	7. Chapter 7

 

One chilly evening a victorious party of champions descended on the Tavern in the Mists after defeating the sha that infested the nearby Terrace of Endless Spring.  Wrathion eagerly hung on every word as they described the battle against the corrupted protectors of the terrace, followed by the fall of the Sha of Fear.   

Some of the champions were obviously still on edge from the encounter, jumping at unexpected noises and glancing around nervously.  Yet they had triumphed, and in return Wrathion showered them with praise and some of the finest enhanced gemstones the world had ever known.

All in all, a good day.

The Black Prince was too keyed up to go to bed at the usual time, even though the champions had dispersed and the tavern was mostly empty.  A dwarven death knight sat reading in one corner, but undead didn't need to sleep, so that wasn't unusual at this time of night.  A pair of troll lovers sat near the front door, somehow managing to kiss each other quite passionately despite the tusks that jutted from their mouths.   No doubt they would head to their room soon for all too obvious purposes.  A lone Shao-Pan monk was nursing a drink at the next table over, lost in his own thoughts and ignoring everyone else.

Wrathion decided none of them were worth his attention, and turned to his bodyguards.  "You're dismissed for the night.  I'm going to take a quick flight around and then retire."

Left and Right nodded and bowed.

Wrathion shifted into his true body and stretched his wings before flying out the front door.  It had been several days since he'd taken the time to visit Mason's Folly, so he headed in that direction.  He wasn't sure what the name meant, since it was a sturdy, aesthetically pleasing balcony of stone overlooking the Jade Forest far below.  Perhaps it was considered a folly because it was essentially in the middle of nowhere, but that was precisely why Wrathion liked it.

He swooped down to land on the stone railing and sat, sniffing the chilly night air.  The Blue Child was full, and the White Lady was barely visible as a half-circle behind a thin veil of fog.  As he craned his neck back to admire the heavens, a flash of anxiety took him by surprise as he remembered his vision of a sky filled with felfire.

He gave a troubled sigh and returned his gaze to the rock spires rising from the Jade Forest.  His efforts to bring the war between the Horde and Alliance to an end hadn't been going as well as he had hoped.  At first it seemed that the Horde's war machine was poised to crush the Alliance, but now internal tensions were rising and it appeared as if Orgrimmar might be facing a civil war in the near future.  This was a complication he could certainly have done without, and he had to adjust many of his plans accordingly.

Oh well.  If the Horde fractured, the Alliance was strong enough to establish dominance.  As long as the fighting stopped and Azeroth stood united under one banner to face the Legion, it mattered little to Wrathion which banner that was.  Anduin Wrynn's friendship had made him feel fonder of the Alliance in recent weeks, but he could not let that influence him.  The human prince would be dead in less than a century, yet Azeroth must continue to exist for eons to come.   That was his duty, and he was determined not to let any personal feelings he had get in the way.

Still, headaches had been plaguing him with annoying frequency in the past few weeks.  The stakes were terribly high, and he could not afford to hesitate or second-guess himself.

In an effort to remind himself of his connection to the planet, he was tempted to close his eyes and let his senses wander through the land.  He had done so many times when he first arrived in Pandaria, but had not dared after learning that the sha infestation was the result of an Old God's remains polluting the continent.   No whispers had ever intruded on his mind, and even though Y'Shaarj was dead, he was not about to take any unnecessary risks.

A shiver ran through him, but whether it was due to the cold mountain air or the thought of the Old Gods, he wasn't sure.  Either way, he was beginning to feel tired enough to make sleep seem appealing, so he spread his wings and headed back toward the tavern.

Most of the windows on the second floor of the Tavern in the Mists were dark.  One exception was the corner room he knew belonged to the Crown Prince of Stormwind, and another was the common room.  Wrathion flew into the latter and found it empty.  The _jihui_ board was still set up with the game he and Anduin had been playing when the champions burst in with the news about the Terrace of Endless Spring.  They would have to finish it tomorrow.  Or was it today?   He wasn't sure if it was after midnight or not.

He shifted back into his human form and headed for his room.  As he passed some of the cheaper rooms, he heard grunting and moaning in a troll dialect through one of the doors, and he rolled his eyes.   Just as he predicted...not that the pair had been particularly subtle about their intentions earlier.

Wrathion continued on to his own room, which was thankfully out of earshot.  The Blacktalon sentry at the door bowed to him.  He acknowledged her with a nod and went inside.  It was dark but his draconic eyes were adapted for deep caverns and he had no trouble finding his way to the futon against the far wall.   He arranged the pillows and blankets to his liking, then shifted back into a whelp and burrowed into the "nest" he had created.

He did his best to push all thoughts of the war, demon invasions, sha, and Old Gods out of his mind.  Sleep came quickly.

 

* * *

 

The Black Prince's rest did not last long.  Barely an hour later, he woke himself up with a frightened screech, flailing against his blankets in the clutches of a nightmare.

As he often was in his dreams, he had been back at Ravenholdt.   He was practicing weapon skills on the training dummies with Fahrad when infernals began slamming into the ground all around them.  The rogue tried to protect him, but one of the rocky demons barreled into them and they both went flying backward.   Fahrad shoved him under the bleachers and told him to stay there, then whirled to face their attackers.  Wrathion screamed at him that daggers were useless against such a foe.  Just as two infernals closed in on Fahrad, about to smash him into a fiery pulp, the whelp had awoken in a panic.

He must not have cried out as loudly as he thought, because the guard in the hallway did not open the door to check on him.  He was glad of that, since it was embarrassing to be seen shaking in terror over a stupid dream.

And it _was_ stupid.  Just another nightmare.   Not real.

Wrathion untangled himself from the blankets and flew over to light the lantern by the window with a snort of flame.  A pleasant yellow glow spread over the room.  He landed on the bureau and splashed some water on his face from the wash basin there, trying to get his breathing back to normal.

It was terribly chilly in his room.  That's why he was shaking.  Still...his heart pounded and he found himself emitting small whimpering noises without a conscious decision to make them.  Such squeaking sounds emerged when he was especially stressed or frightened.  He loathed them, partly because they made him seem weak, and partly because he suspected they were designed to alert his mother to attend to him, had she been around.

Her bones lay bleaching in the sun in the Badlands, of course.   Fahrad was gone, too.  No one was around to recognize his distress call.

This line of thinking made reality seem only marginally better than the nightmare, and he swore under his breath as he realized he wasn't going to get back to sleep anytime soon.

He hopped off the bureau and resumed his human guise.   Perhaps some tea would calm his nerves.  He started for the door, then realized that his clothes were the same elaborate, royal ones he wore during the day, which felt wrong, somehow.  He paused, removed his gloves and turban, and slipped off his decorated jacket.  This left him with a plainer shirt, one made of white silk with a pattern of draconic runes embroidered along the collar and sleeves.  No one here could read the symbols, of course, but it privately amused him to know it listed his name and titles in the most flowery, formal language possible.

With that, he opened the door.  The Blacktalon sentry must have seen the light turn on, because she was ready with a bow and did not act surprised by his sudden appearance.   He nodded in as casual a manner as possible and trudged toward the stairs.  As he descended, he surveyed the tavern.  The death knight was still reading in the corner.  The only other people around were two night elves who looked like they might be sisters, chatting quietly near the bottom of the stairs.   They smiled and nodded at him.  He could not muster a smile in return, but he mumbled, "Hello, champions" as he passed.

He wandered into the kitchen and found it occupied by one of Tong's assistants, Xing Li.  The young Pandaren was so busy kneading bread dough that she didn't even notice him at first, and when he politely cleared his throat she jumped.

"Pardon me, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, Your Majesty, it's just you," she said, clutching her chest as she recovered.

" _Just_ me?" he said, raising an eyebrow as if offended.

"I did not mean--" she started.

"It's fine," he said with a faint smile, holding up a hand to cut off her apology.  "I'm afraid I'm having trouble sleeping.   Would you know of a tea that might help?"

"Of course," the Pandaren said.  "Valerian with lemon always helps me."

"I'll take a cup, then."  He looked wistfully at the brick oven, drawn to its comforting heat.  

She got out a tea pot and packets of herbs, humming cheerfully as she mixed everything together.

"While you do that, would I disturb anything if I...sit in the oven?" he asked awkwardly.

She turned toward him with a confused look, then remembered what he truly was.  "Oh, certainly, go right ahead.  I don't have the bread ready to bake yet."

Wrathion sighed in relief and shrank into his real body, then crawled into the oven to sprawl out amid the glowing coals.  He stifled a pleased moan, letting the welcome heat soak through his scales.

A few minutes later, the kitchen door opened, and he heard Xing Li say, "Oh, hello, Your Majesty.  Don't tell me you can't sleep, either?"

Anduin's voice replied, "Afraid not.  My leg is bothering me, and some of the other, um, guests, are being kind of noisy."

Wrathion could not resist sticking his head out of the oven and commenting.  "Are you referring to those trolls who have been rutting loudly for hours?"

Anduin gave a startled cry, and Wrathion smirked.

The human got over his surprise quickly and laughed.   "Yes, actually."

"One has to admire their stamina.  I've heard that a female troll in heat can mate over eighty times in one night."

"Great, I'll never get any sleep," Anduin grumbled.

"I could have one of my Blacktalons persuade them to give it a rest, if you'd like."

Anduin sat down, wincing as his bad leg bent to fit under the small table.  "It's all right.  I wouldn't want to intrude.  They're not doing anything wrong, exactly, it's just...distracting."

Wrathion rolled onto his back in the coals and closed his eyes.   "As you wish.  I can't hear them from my room, so it makes no difference to me."

"How about dragons?" Anduin asked.

"What about them?"

"Eighty times in one night?"

Wrathion was glad the glow of the fire disguised the blush he felt spreading over his face.  "I wouldn't know.  Nor am I likely to find out any time soon."

"Your tea is ready," Xing Li said.  She looked as if she wanted to laugh very badly but was controlling herself to be polite.   She set the teapot on the table along with two cups, one for each prince.

"Oh, thank you!" Anduin said.  "That smells lovely."

She bowed.  "You are most welcome, Your Majesty."

Wrathion reluctantly left the warmth of the oven and shifted back into his human form.  The flash of relief on Anduin's face did not escape him.   The human prince tried to hide it, but the sight of a black whelp still made him uneasy.

"I was going to ask for warm milk, since that's what I'm used to having when I can't sleep," Anduin said, stirring his tea.  "But, when in Pandaria, do as the Pandarens do, I guess."

Wrathion took a seat across from him and sniffed his cup.   "Hmm...lemon wouldn't be my first choice, but if it's supposed to help..."

"I don't know if it will work the same on a dragon, but it always helps me to sleep," the Pandaren said with a motherly smile before turning her back on them to work on the breakfast preparations.

Anduin took a sip.  "So if you can't hear the troll orgy from your room, why can't you sleep?"

Wrathion scowled and avoided the other prince's gaze.   "Just a stupid dream."

"Ah," Anduin said with a sympathetic nod.   "That'll do it."  An amused smile crossed his face, and Wrathion bristled defensively.

"It's not funny!  I can't help what my subconscious does when I'm asleep!" he snapped.

"Hmm?"  Anduin looked startled by his reaction, then realized he had misinterpreted his grin.  "Oh, sorry, I wasn't making fun of you.  I was just thinking about a nightmare I had once."

"A _funny_ nightmare?"

"Not at the time.  It was during the years that 'Lady Prestor' was around.  I had a dream about dragons attacking the keep, and I ran to Bolvar's room in a panic.  He reassured me that there weren't any dragons in Stormwind, got me a glass of milk, and sat with me until I fell asleep again.   Little did we know at the time that Deathwing's daughter was in the same building."  His smile faded to a mournful look.  "You asked me once about grief.  I have lost a lot of people I've cared about, but you know...  I was just a baby when my mother died, and, unlike your kind, we humans don't really know much at that age.  I don't actually...remember her."  

His words had the air of a confession, and Wrathion suspected Anduin had tried to comfort his father by pretending to share memories of Tiffin.

Anduin continued.  "But Highlord Bolvar was like a second father to me.  All the years my real father was missing, he took care of me, taught me, brought me treats, stayed with me when I was sick, took me fishing...  I miss him most of all."

Wrathion turned the tea cup in his hands, studying the pattern on the china rather than look at Anduin.  "I...understand."

When he did not elaborate, the human asked, "I don't mean to pry, and you don't have to answer, but...who do you grieve for?"

"Me?  I had my entire dragonflight killed," he said flippantly.  "We'd be here until dawn if I had to list them all.  Good riddance to the lot."

"Yes, but as I understand it, you never met most of them."

He opened his mouth to make a snarky retort, but sighed and took a sip of tea before answering.  "I had a...caretaker.  He rescued me from the red dragonflight, helped me hatch, taught me to fight and hunt, and assisted me with my mission to eradicate my corrupted brethren."

Anduin nodded in fresh understanding.  "I see."

The dragon's gaze was distant, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.  "We never bothered with such a pointless endeavor as _fishing_ , but he also brought me treats, and sat with me when I wasn't feeling well...comforted me after nightmares..."  He took another drink of tea and fell silent, not wanting to stir up any more emotion than he already had.

"How long has he been gone?"

Wrathion considered for a moment.  "I suppose it's been almost a year, now," he said quietly.

"Ah.  The first year is the hardest."

"How long for you?"

"Bolvar fell in the assault on the Wrathgate," Anduin said.  "So...over two years."

"And you said time makes it easier?" Wrathion asked.

"It does.  It's never easy, but..."  He shrugged and took another drink of tea.

Wrathion sipped his, wishing it was hotter but not wanting to complain.  It did have a soothing effect.

"Well, this is dumb," Anduin said, shifting his weight in his chair.

"What is?"

"Sitting here, making ourselves feel sad.  That's not going to help us get to sleep."

Wrathion snorted.  "Would you prefer tales about happy bunnies frolicking in the meadow?"

"I'm a little old for that, but you aren't, so if you want me to tell you a bedtime story..."  Anduin smirked.

"In case you hadn't noticed, dragons mature significantly faster than humans do.  I may be only two years old, but I'm not a _child_."

Anduin refilled his teacup.  "No, you're not.   But there are still some things that only come with experience."

"That is hardly my fault."

Realizing that he was dangerously close to actually offending his friend, Anduin backed off.  "So if dragons grow up so quickly, when are you old enough to...do what those trolls are doing upstairs?"

Wrathion took another sip of tea before answering, giving himself time to think of a proper way to phrase his answer.  "On average, dragons reach breeding age at around one hundred years."

"A hundred?" Anduin repeated with a gasp.   "But if you mature faster than humans..."

"Mental maturity and physical maturity are two different things," he said, raising his nose disdainfully.  "If we stumbled around being helpless for the first decade and a half like your people do, we'd never live long enough to breed.  Between the ages of five and one hundred, young dragons explore the world, establish a territory, hone their skills, and find their purpose.  Many select their first mates in their eighties or nineties, but if they're the sort of pair who will reproduce it doesn't happen until later."

"What about before they turn five?"

Wrathion clenched his teeth, wishing he hadn't brought up that benchmark.  "That is typically the age when whelps leave their parents' lair to strike out on their own," he admitted reluctantly.

"So you should still be--"

"I _should_ be precisely where I am, seeing to the defense of Azeroth," he interrupted.

Anduin said nothing, merely drinking the last of the tea in his cup.

"Besides, aren't _you_ close to the age when humans select mates?"

Anduin choked on his tea and coughed until he regained his voice.  "Well, some do, I mean, not everyone..."  He coughed again, then recovered his dignity.  "First of all, we don't call them 'mates.'   Secondly, as Crown Prince of Stormwind, it's not up to me.  When my father decides it's time for me to wed and produce an heir, he'll find a suitable match."

"I sense some reluctance on your part."

It was the human's turn to squirm uncomfortably.  "I know my father will try to find someone he thinks I'll get along with," he said after a moment.  "He and my mother had an arranged marriage, and grew to love each other very much.  It's just...he and I don't share the same...tastes."

"You would prefer to have the decision in your own hands."

"Of course," Anduin said, pushing the empty teacup away.  "Wouldn't anyone?"

"I wouldn't know," Wrathion said with a bitter laugh.   "As the last black dragon in the world, it's not a problem I've had any reason to contemplate."

"Why limit yourself to dragons?  Jaina and Kalec seem happy."

Wrathion snorted.  "With all due respect to Lady Proudmoore, Kalecgos' last lover was the avatar of the Sunwell.  He is not exactly known for his orthodox tastes.  Besides, considering the woefully short life span of your kind, it's hardly a long-term solution."

Anduin shook his head, choosing not to defend his "aunt" at the moment.  "What about someone from the other dragonflights?  You'd have more than just life expectancy in common.  Although, if you're looking for heirs...can the different colors interbreed?"

"It's generally frowned upon, but there's no biological reason why they can't.  We were all the same variety of creature before the Titans tinkered with us, after all.  There aren't many documented cases of bi-color offspring, since such matings are both rare and subject to low fertility.  The unique magical abilities of each flight do not seem to breed true across color lines, however."

There was a sly twist to Anduin's mouth.  "So you have thought about it."

Wrathion sniffed defensively.  "I try to gather as much information as I can about any and all topics.  I have many decades to consider the options, but frankly I don't think the world needs any more black dragons.  My own considerable talents are more than adequate to protect Azeroth.  Having more of us around would only complicate matters."   He made a dismissive gesture, as if flicking away an insect from his hand.   "The Titan artifact that made me granted protection against the Old Gods' whispers, somehow, but there's no guarantee it would be passed on to my hypothetical offspring.   It's not a risk worth taking, as far as I'm concerned."  

Anduin sighed wistfully.  "I suppose when you don't have a kingdom depending on you to secure the line of succession, you can follow your heart instead of being obligated to find someone who is the same race, of noble birth, and the opposite sex."  He counted off the criteria on his fingers.

"Are you saying you're in love with a destitute male dwarf?" Wrathion teased.

Anduin laughed but did not make eye contact.  "Not exactly."

"It's a pity you humans favor monogamy.  Dragons take as many mates as they like.  There's no need to confine oneself to a particular... _type_.   After all, there are plenty of other reasons to have a mate besides reproduction.   Or so I've heard," he said with a pointed glance through the ceiling in the general direction of the trolls.  "My caretaker tried to explain certain, er, _details_ to me once, but I informed him that the Titans' databank included plenty of information on such matters.  He was rather relieved."

Anduin looked away with a shy cough.  "I wish I could talk to my father about all this, but I just...can't."

"So you talk to a dragon who finds the whole business really rather boring."

"I guess so."  The human gave a small laugh at the absurdity of it all, then pushed his chair back from the table and picked up his cane.   "I'm going to try to get some sleep, now."

"Very well.  I do hope the racket has quieted down.   If not, the offer still stands.  I doubt they'd continue once one of my agents burst in to complain about the noise."

Anduin chuckled and shook his head.  "Not necessary, but thank you.  Good night, Wrathion."

"Good night, Anduin."

When the sound of the human prince's cane tapping on the floor receded into the distance, the Pandaren cook finally turned to face the dragon slouched at the table.  "Your Majesty," she began, and he jumped, having nearly forgotten she was there.  "I'm going to put bread in the oven, now.  If you want to, there is room in the back..."

Wrathion yawned, feeling the soothing effects of the tea make his eyelids heavier by the minute.  "That would be ideal, if it wouldn't inconvenience you."

Xing Li waved off his concerns.  "I don't believe the breakfast rolls will end up tasting like dragon."

He snickered and shifted back into a whelp.

"I'll try to be quiet," she said.

"Thank you."

Wrathion crawled into the back of the brick oven and stretched out among the red-hot coals.  A happy groan escaped him as he curled up and closed his eyes.  It wasn't practical to do this every night, but as a one-time indulgence to combat insomnia, it felt heavenly.

He swiftly fell asleep, truly warm for the first time in weeks. 

 

* * *

 

It had been three days since he returned from his pilgrimage to the four temples of the Celestials, and Wrathion still ached from the grueling combat they had put him and his champion through.  Fortunately, Anduin was away on Alliance business.  The human prince would surely have noticed how stiff and pained his movements were, but he was able to fake it in front of the adventurers that passed through the tavern.

Left and Right dutifully stood watch as the Black Prince soaked in the hot springs in his true form.  The steamy water soothed his aching muscles, and he stayed near the edge so he could sit on the bottom while leaving only his head above water.  He kept his eyes closed, trying not to make any visible signs of distress even in front of his two most trusted bodyguards.  They had not been happy when he insisted on making the journey to the Celestials' temples without them.   Coming back bruised and battered only increased their displeasure, although both were trained too well to let it effect their performance.

Still, Left hadn't spoken to him since he returned, and he caught Right giving him worried, pitying looks whenever he moved wrong and could not suppress a soft grunt of pain.

Wrathion inhaled the steam rising from the water's surface and slouched until his neck was covered, too.  The strained muscles reminded him of Fahrad's training sessions at Ravenholdt.  Hours spent drilling on the practice dummies...  He gave a thin smile at the memory of his first, clumsy attempts to use a polearm.  He had protested that he was unlikely to ever use such an unwieldy weapon, and yet here he was, lugging a lightning-tempered mogu lance all over Pandaria.

_You prepared me well,_ he thought to Fahrad.

Thoughts of the rogue still made an unwelcome surge of grief wash over him, but Anduin was right.  As time passed the sadness dulled ever so slightly, and the good memories became even more precious.

Determined not to let himself dwell on such melancholy thoughts, he reflected on his recent journeys.  Since arriving in Pandaria, he had heard many tales of the Celestials, the ancient guardian spirits who embodied the ideals of wisdom, hope, strength and fortitude.  Visiting each temple and receiving the blessings of Yulon, Chi-Ji, Xuen and Niuzao had been a thrilling experience, and he wished he had more time to study each.

It was just as well that only a single mortal champion had been present to witness the meetings, however.  When faced with beings of such age, wisdom and power, his own youth and inexperience had made him feel--and occasionally sound--like an awkward child.  He winced to remember some of his faltering answers to their questions.  The riddles and proverbs were one thing, however.  Even sparring with his champion in combat was an acceptable challenge.  The all-too-realistic image of his father, on the other hand...

Wrathion suppressed a shiver and briefly dunked his head underwater.  He had not been expecting that.  It really wasn't fair.  How did the Celestials even know about Deathwing?  His corruption had surfaced just as Pandaria was hidden from the rest of Azeroth.  No one here was supposed to know about the insane, fiery monster he had become.  Yet both Niuzao and Chi-Ji had conjured up horrifying visions of the World Breaker in his human guise, and then expected Wrathion to fight him.

The Celestials had effortlessly seen past all his bravado and bluster and cut straight to the thing that terrified him the most.  Such audacity should have angered him, but the sheer terror of facing Deathwing drowned out any other emotion.  The pure, gut-wrenching _fear_ he felt the first time he saw his father's ravaged face glaring down at him had been nearly paralyzing.  Had his mortal champion not been there to assist, he doubted he would have been able to move at all.   As it was, he stumbled several times, pleading for the Celestials to _make it stop_.

Wrathion scowled and hugged himself tightly under the water, determined not to let his guards know how shaken he was by the experience.  Bad enough his champion had witnessed it.  He was the Black Prince, the last of his kind, guardian of Azeroth.   A silly magical illusion of his safely _dead_ father was not worth losing sleep over.

He had, though.  When he closed his eyes he could still see the sprays of lava...  Even now he felt his stomach flip over at the memory.

It was not only the physical danger posed by Deathwing that made him tremble, though.  He had faced similar attacks before.  What haunted him the most was the sheer insanity in the Destroyer's gaze.  There was no sign of pity, remorse, hesitation, compassion or rational thinking in those fiery eyes.  He was truly a puppet of the Old Gods.

Had circumstances been different, Wrathion would have hatched as just another tainted black dragon, subject to the unrelenting whispers and chaotic urges.  His clutchmates might have killed him in the throes of their own madness, or he might have slain them.  Perhaps their mother would have destroyed them.  Even if he lived long enough to take a consort, his mate or offspring might have killed him.   That was all assuming mortals didn't get to him first.  Very few black dragons died of old age.

Wrathion glanced at Left and Right, who stood on either side of the hot spring, alert to any approaching danger.  Anduin was the only person outside the Blacktalon ranks to know about their secret orders to end their prince's life if he fell into the corruption of his ancestors.  Right had balked at first, but he was vehement.  He would rather die than turn into...that.

Xuen's words rang in his head.  "A black dragon, through and through," he had called him.  What did that mean?  The White Tiger had chuckled before saying it, and it hadn't sounded like it was meant as an insult, but still...   After as hard as he had worked to distance himself from the rest of his flight, the Celestials seemed to think he was true to his ancestry.

Chi-Ji had addressed him with several titles:  "Child of the World Breaker."  "Son of the Earth Warder."   "Son of Deathwing."  Yulon called him "dragon-child" and "a true child of the Aspects."  It felt contradictory.  The Earth Warder and the Aspects were the models he was trying to emulate.  Deathwing the World Breaker was the last person he wanted to be associated with.  

Were the Celestials simply acknowledging his contradictory background?  Warning of what he might become?  Or something else?

Fatigue of both the mental and physical variety permeated every scale of his body, and as he climbed up onto the wooden platform that surrounded the hot spring he felt slightly dizzy.  He flopped down to sit before anyone noticed his wobbling.  His guards turned to look at him, awaiting orders.

"Right, carry me to my room," he said, stretching his arms up to her.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she said with a slight smile, stooping to pick him up.  Heedless of the water dripping all over her armor, she carried him into the tavern and up the stairs.  Left unlocked the door to his room, and Right set him gently on the futon.

"A towel, please," he instructed.  Left grabbed one from the bureau and rubbed it over his body to dry the water that hadn't been absorbed by Right's garments.

Wrathion nodded in approval and yawned.  "That will be all.  Good night."

The orc bowed and headed for the door.  Right followed, but then looked over her shoulder.  "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"Are you...all right?"

He inwardly flinched.  Perhaps he hadn't been as good at hiding his disquiet as he thought.  "I am fine," he said firmly.   "Just fatigued from my journey."

"Even before you left, I couldn't help noticing that you don't seem as...energetic as usual."

Left nodded in agreement.  "You've lost weight."

"Thank you for your concern," he said curtly, "but I am quite well.  I simply have a lot on my mind, what with saving the world and all."

Right gave him a fond smile.  "Of course.  Sleep well, my prince."  Both guards bowed and exited, leaving him alone in his room.

Wrathion looked down at himself.  Had he lost weight?   He hadn't noticed.

"Blast," he muttered.  "Broke another claw."  He scowled at the jagged end of one of the talons on his left foot.   He had returned from his battering at the Celestials' temples with several others broken off, but this damage was new.  Must have snagged it on something in the hot spring.

He was too tired to file it down tonight.  Wrathion fluttered up to douse the lantern by the window and returned to the futon.  His usual nest of pillows and blankets was undisturbed since this morning, and he burrowed in with a weary sigh.  Perhaps tonight he could rest without any nightmares.

As he drifted off into slumber, the voices of the Celestials echoed faintly in his head.

_ A black dragon through and though. _

_ You are stronger than your father, young prince. _

_ Remember, you are never defeated until you decide to remain so. _

_ Live every day with hope in your heart. _

_ With the support of friends, nothing is impossible. _

_ Strength used in the service of others is twice as powerful as strength spent on our foes. _

_ Power is worthless without spirit. _

_ Do not despair, young prince. _

The black whelp began to snore softly, and no visions of terror interrupted his sleep that night.


End file.
